


Gimme Your Hands ('Cause You're Wonderful)

by faeleverte



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Fingering, Complete, Fluff, Frottage, Hawkeyes being bros, M/M, More Fluff, Non-Penetrative Sex, Oral Sex, Partially Clothed Sex, Phil Coulson's giant cock, Sex Toys, agents of shield flirting, also penetrative sex, and all the fluff that ever did fluff, and just wait until I start tagging sex acts, and minor sex accidents, breakfast flirtations, but it got out of hand, but not that kind of riding, canine interruptions, discussing sex like grownups, flirtatious baking, fluff like marshmallow cream, it was supposed to be a ficlet, just going for a drive, like everything i write, now with your guaranteed happy ending, rides in Lola, so much porn, toe sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-09-14 04:10:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 56,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9160732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeleverte/pseuds/faeleverte
Summary: Phil’s a bit younger than Clint. And confident. And overtly sexy. And together. And everything Clint’s pretty sure he isn’t. Still, Clint’s got friends. And a building. And a dog. And responsibilities. He’s even got an office around here somewhere, and rumor has it that there’s a Tupperware container of home-baked scones in there. If only he can find the way (of course he can; he’s a superhero, right?).This is largely based on 616 characters, but picture a younger Phil Coulson with all of MCU Coulson’s swagger





	1. Do You Have Prince Albert in a Can?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrspoptop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrspoptop/gifts), [Laura Kaye (laurakaye)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurakaye/gifts), [Kathar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kathar/gifts).



Clint swiped his badge at the front desk, forced himself to smile at Bridgette (Hill hated when he scared off new receptionists), and stumbled toward the break room in a semi-fugue state. He wasn’t going to be good for anything until he got at least half a pot of java juice in him. He’d run out at home ( _Dammit, Kate. Hawkeyes might run on coffee, but you don’t take a man’s last pot!_ ), and getting ready had been damned near impossible. He hoped he’d gotten everything he needed: boots, pistol, underpants… _Shit_.

The newish guy–Paul or Pete or Prince Albert the Third… P-something– was at the repurposed conference table that took up too much floor space, nibbling at a scone he held in one hand, the newspaper in the other. The guy seemed nice enough, from the few words they’d exchanged in in the halls and before meetings; in the meetings themselves, he’d always been competent and– of so much more importance– concise. The ability to avoid babbling on when presenting information was a skill Clint valued in a guy. Or girl. Or agent of any other variety. 

If _only_ he could remember the guy’s name. Clint had seen it on emails and, like, memos and other office-y shit, but he just couldn’t pull it up in his brain. Last name Cooper? Cowden? Fulson? Anyway, the guy was in his shirt-sleeves, cuffs turned up to his elbows like he had no regard for anyone that might be distracted by the sight of so much muscular forearm and delicate wrist so early in the morning. Maybe if Clint could remember the guy’s name, he could figure out how to look away from the freckles and perfect coating of light-brown hair on the guy’s arms. Maybe he could come up with something witty to say to get the guy to look up. 

Might not remember his name, but Clint wasn’t likely to forget a pretty pair of blue eyes any time soon. Or, ya know, ever. Hawkeye. Hired for his ability to see things. Like a jaw sharp enough to cut himself on with only the tiniest of bruises showing above his collar. Now, bruises on SHIELD agents weren’t unusual in any way. But that one looked slightly tooth-shaped. Like it might have been bitten into existence. Not that getting bitten wasn’t _also_ shockingly common for agents in the field. Still. Looked like someone had tried to get it with the guy.

_Get It!_ That’s what Clint remembered hearing the guy called. Get It Cooper-Cowden-Fulson-Or-Something-Along-Those-Lines. Something about everyone at Academy being fair game and at least half of those active at SHIELD, too. Clint eyed the spread of the guy’s shoulders and wondered how he’d never gotten around to tapping that. Not that he wanted to. 

(Not that he didn’t)

Anyway, the guy had graduated to the ranks of Senior Agent– admittedly fairly recently– but really he should know better than to try to read a newspaper. Clint didn’t believe in harassing people for their reading material, though, so he’d just stay quiet, get his coffee and go.

“You know you can’t actually believe anything in there, right.” _Aww, mouth. Really? That’s what we’re going with?_ Clint edged around the tiny space the table left, trying not to curse aloud when he caught the corner of a chair back with a tender portion of his...person. How could he possibly be expected to get through a crowded room unscathed with so much arm on display?

“Of course.” New guy shoved the scone between his teeth and flipped the page. He settled the paper down for comfortable reading and took the scone back in his left hand. “I’m just playing Spot the Coverup. Wanna join?”

He looked up at Clint with a tiny smile, and Clint found himself smiling back. Clint filled a paper cup and sat down at the end of the table, leaving two polite chairs between himself and where new guy had staked a claim with a mug, a napkin, and himself. 

“There are more scones, if you’re interested.” New guy set his own down on the napkin to take a drink from the mug. “I might’ve gotten carried away when I was baking last night.”

That a was a _Thing_ about New Guy: he baked. Obsessively. More than once, when they’d had meetings together, or at the occasional office birthday party, he’d shared the fruits of his obsession with Clint. Clint, being an enthusiastic eater, appreciated baking in a man, so he accepted, and gratefully took the top lump of dough when offered a Tupperware full of chocolate-chippy goodness. Clint took a bite, moaned softly, and then felt his face heat as all the blood in his body rushed upward. 

“I know they’re good, but…” New Guy gave him another smile, then he licked his lips and his eyes flashed wickedly. “Guess I’ll have to add _orgasmic_ to the description on the recipe card.”

Clint tried to inhale and swallow at the same time and ended up choking. New Guy– _Phil_! His name was Phil– gave another playful smirk as he pushed himself to his feet. He folded the paper, used it to gently thwack Clint on the shoulder, and then scooped up his own scone, the Tupperware, and his mug and swaggered out of the room. Clint _might_ have whimpered a little as he went, but it was at the loss of the scones and not a bit at being forced to watch the glories of a muscular Agent Butt walking away.

_God, I need to get laid._

Clint poured a scalding gulp of coffee down his throat and calmly began to chew at his scone. 

Three days later, after returning home from a mission to Mogadishu, Clint started wondering just what kind of magic Phil’s scones were baked with, because every time Clint thought back to the morning before he’d left, his dick gave some kind of weird little twitch. Ten minutes into his welcome-home-yay-I-survived shower, Clint decided that the scones really _must’ve_ been orgasmic, even if the reaction was slightly delayed. Had to be the scones. Clint didn’t go around creeping on younger agents, and he’d certainly never jerk-off to thoughts of their butts, no matter how round and glorious said butts were.

*****

“Oh, hi...uh...Phil?” _Dammit, Barton._ Clint reached up to scratch at the back of his neck, trying to portray someone much more in control that he actually felt. He _knew_ the guy’s name was Phil. What Clint _didn’t_ know was whether or not Phil was actually okay with Clint _calling_ him Phil. Maybe he should have called the guy Agent...whatever his last name actually was. Not that Clint could remember. Maybe just _Agent_ , then. Agent was nice and generic. Didn’t sound a bit like Clint was wheedling for another scone or three.

“Hi, Clint.” Phil pushed himself to his feet and rounded the end of the desk before leaning back against the edge of it. Maybe he was trying to block the view of the papers he’d been working on. 

Clint instinctively shifted minutely to the left and tried to get a look at them.

“Budget reporting for special missions.” Phil leaned to his own left, giving Clint a clearer view. “Your arrows come up more than once. I’m perfectly fine reporting them, but I have no idea how much any of them would actually be worth. Like a boomerang arrow? What would something like that go for?”

For one spectacular instant, Clint forgot how to speak English. His brain had fritzed just a bit on watching Phil’s mouth shape the words “boomerang arrow.” Seriously, though. Clint felt like he couldn’t be blamed. Absolutely pornographic when lips like that said “arrow.” Enough to distract anyone. Well, anyone named Hawkeye. Well, any Hawkeye named Clint Barton.

No, on second thought, Kate would probably have appreciated it just as much.

Oh. Wait. Cost. Cost of arrows. Clint could do that.

“Wanna have dinner with me Friday night?”

_What the actual_ fuck _, mouth?_ Clint reminded himself that, just because a man could say “boomerang arrows” did not mean he wanted to get in Clint’s pants. Especially not men who looked like Agent...Phil. Who got looked at the way that Agent Phil got looked at by everyone in the secretarial pool and most active agents.

“I’d love to.” Phil answered Clint with another of those sultry little smiles. He bit his bottom lip and tipped his head, watching Clint with that same sparkle of amusement. “But neither of us will be in town. You’ve got that Avengers thing in California, and I’m afraid I’ll be somewhere classified. But I’ll take a raincheck.”

Was that _seriously_ Agent Phil...Something-or-other giving Clint that slow, slightly greedy kind of once over? Was there something wrong with his eyes, his morals, or his idea of fun that he’d be interested in dinner– And when the _hell_ was the last time Clint’d actually asked someone on a date?– with a beat-up kind-of-superhero like Clint? Seriously, what did Clint have to offer except exceptional aim, a shitty apartment building, a few versions of the afterlife, and a host of scars? And why was Phil staring at his crotch with that little, probably-subconscious lip-lick? The only people who stared at Clint’s dick like that had actually seen it (at least the only people who were that blatant about it). Which generally meant they’d seen him naked.

Wait… _had_ Phil seen him naked? When was the last time Clint’d gone through the decontamination showers? Had there been cameras? Wait. SHIELD. There were _always_ cameras. Clint should probably be creeped out, but instead, he felt his shoulders kinda spread out at the idea of Phil watching him shower off the weird purple and orange goo a few months back. Hey, at least Clint hadn’t been bleeding, boiling, or otherwise having an adverse reaction; he’d made _that_ shower look good.

“Rain...check…” Clint tested out the word, trying to find the now-lost thread of conversation. Oh. A date. “Yeah, that’d...we could...I can offer...Sure. When we’re both back. We’ll...There’ll be dinner. I can give you. We’ll have dinner.”

“Sounds good.” Phil gave him another of those little smiles. Most people, when confronted with Clint Barton Finishing School Flirtations, gave him a concerned look, like they thought he might’ve had a stroke while they weren’t paying attention. “And there are coconut pineapple scones on your desk.” Phil reached out and patted Clint on the shoulder. “I put them there this morning, but I’m just guessing you hadn’t found them yet.”

“Are they as orgasmic as the chocolate chip?” _Aww, mouth, no._

Phil pushed off the edge of the desk and leaned a micrometer closer to Clint’s ear.

“I’ve heard they’re better.” He said it low and rough, but still carefully enunciated, like he knew Clint needed the help to understand the words.

How was someone this perfect real? Clint wondered if he should introduce him to Steve, but then he selfishly decided that if Steve was so damned perfect, he could find his own date. At least until Clint’d gotten to have dinner with this one.

Clint opened his mouth to answer, realized that Phil didn’t have any need-to-know about orgasms in showers, snapped his mouth shut hard enough to make his tongue bleed where he caught it with his teeth, and fled before he could make any bigger fool out of himself.

Phil’s dark, throaty laughter didn’t fade from hearing until Clint was a good ten yards down the hall. No. Steve didn’t need to meet this one. Phil’d eat him for lunch. And _that_ thought, that maybe Clint was better equipped to handle a hot date than Captain Fucking America, cheered Clint up enough that he tried to swagger the last two hallways to his office.

Except he couldn’t remember which one was his own, so he had to go door to door and hope his key let him in before anyone else found the scones.

*****

“But like, how do you lose an entire _office?_ ” Kate loosed another arrow across the living room. Bullseye, as ever. 

Clint drew two and buried them deep, one on each side of hers.

“Because I’ve been in there exactly one time, and that was just long enough to put the new version of the SHIELD Employee Handbook in the desk and walk back out.” Clint sniffed as Kate sank two arrows wide for “eyes” around the nose their three in the bullseye formed. He drew three for part of the smile and then two more before the first three had struck. “Besides, at least I knew which _hall_ it was in. And it even had a nameplate, so I figured it out before I’d done more than knock on one wrong door.”

“You’re not stupid.” Kate said it almost kindly. “It’s as much a shock to me as to you. But damn, you get weird when you like someone.”

Clint nodded, because there was no way he could reasonably deny that. He thought of how he’d locked the office door and savored the first scone. All two minutes it’d taken him to eat it. He’d done better with the second, making it last almost five whole minutes. The third and fourth, he’d eaten as soon as he’d gone home. He hadn’t shared either the scones or his state of undress with Kate. Rather, he didn't tell her about his state of undress while eating said scones. 

The thought of being naked around Katie-Kate filled him with something related to the horror he’d felt upon waking up not-dead. Again.

Anyway. Phil’s scones were for Clint alone. And maybe Natasha. If she didn’t tease him too hard about his rapidly developing, utterly incomprehensible crush. Maybe. If any lasted until morning.

“Wanna try a scone?” _Dammit, mouth._

Kate shrugged in the too-casual way that let Clint know that _she_ knew how big of a deal it was. “Sure.”

Five minutes later, licking crumbs off the string-calloused tips of her long fingers, Kate nodded solemnly.

“I think you should marry that man.” She patted Clint on the shoulder. “He’s already _way_ up on your last three exes.”

Clint nodded back, not certain if he was agreeing that Phil was way ahead or that he should marry the guy. With Clint’s love life, it was often hard to tell.

*****

It was windy in the landing bay when the overhead doors opened to admit the Quinjet. Clint ran a hand over his hair and wondered if his fingers were helping or making it wilder. He fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt and tried to get a look at his reflection in the glossy black paint of a nearby SUV. Maybe he should have dressed up more. Maybe he shouldn’t have dug out a new licensed Hawkeye shirt. The creases from where it had been folded into the cellophane might make him look like he was trying to hard. Maybe he shouldn’t be there at all; Phil probably wanted to go home, have his welcome-home-yay-I-survived shower. Not that Clint was thinking of Phil in the shower.

…

… 

_Crap. I’m totally thinking of him in the shower._

Phil walked down the back ramp of the ‘jet, talking animatedly to the dark-haired young woman beside him. He was wearing a smile, kind but not _too_ friendly. And still the woman looked at him like he was something to eat. Clint tried not to bristle. He had no rights to bristling at people eyeing the guy who made him scones. Phil probably baked scones for everyone he knew. If they were, like, having a bad day. 

It’d make sense, as Clint had more bad days than most people _and_ Clint was on the receiving end of most of the scones. 

Phil glanced over and saw Clint. His expression blanked for a moment, and then he lit up in a brilliant, _real_ smile. Like he hadn’t expected Clint to be there, but he thought Clint was a _good_ surprise. Like he’d kinda hoped but hadn’t believed or something.

Maybe Clint wasn’t reading too much into the scones, after all.

“Much as I’d love to get breakfast with you and Eleanor,” Phil turned back to the woman at his side and slumped his shoulders regretfully, “I already made plans. Good work on the computers yesterday. Enjoy your day off. You earned it.”

The woman scowled at Clint for a moment, then she turned her attention back to Phil. He straightened his shoulders and the woman sighed wistfully, and turned away. Phil looked like he’d already forgotten her as he strutted over to where Clint stood. They stood staring at each other a moment, and then Phil pushed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the side of the SUV. Clint nearly unconsciously mirrored the gesture.

“I hope that’s not to presumptuous of me.” Phil cocked his head and smiled, against giving Clint a slow, sultry once-over. He licked his lips, gaze resting on Clint’s chest for a moment too long. “Me just...announcing I had plans when I saw you waiting here.”

Clint tried not to preen. Maybe the guy just got hot for targets. God knew, _Clint_ could.

“I...you...that’s…” _Presume away_ , Clint wanted to say. None of that came out, however; it was all strangled into silence when Phil gave him a sexy, flirty little wink. 

“I mean, I’m assuming you’re here for me, and not because you’re in immediate danger of racing off on some mission or superhero thing.” Phil took another half-step closer, edging just into Clint’s personal space. 

Personal space was _so_ overrated.

“This doesn’t count as dinner.” _Smooth, Clint_. “But I’d like to take you out for breakfast. If you eat that. I mean, if you’re up for...I mean, if you’d like to have breakfast with me before you go home and–” _shower_. Clint stopped the word from slipping out by biting firmly on his tongue.

“I’d love to have breakfast with you.” Phil gestured to the tablet he had in one hand. “If we can just stop by my office for a minute while I file the mission report, we can be on our way.”

Clint, still holding his tongue firmly between his teeth, nodded. He made some kind of grand sweep of his arm meant to convey “lead on”, and then he regretted all his life choices. Walking behind Phil while he shrugged out of his suit coat was entirely too distracting. The view after the jacket was gone was even _more_ distracting. Clint bit harder on his tongue and tried to keep his whimpers below the range of human hearing.

Phil was true to his word, spending almost precisely sixty seconds in his office to connect the Starktab to the secure network and upload his report. Not that Clint counted. Okay, so he did, but it was because counting distracted him from the way Phil leaned across the desk, pointing the succulence of his perfect ass directly Clint’s way. It was probably poor taste to grope a man before taking him out for breakfast. Not that it’d stopped him before. Maybe _that_ was his problem. Clint counted with more intensity and kept his hands in his pockets, both to make them behave and to help disguise his more physical reaction to the proximity of Phil’s pretty, perfectly plump posterior. 

Clint rocked on his heels, popping his lips around the letter P repeatedly after making certain that the letter was the only part of his thoughts coming out.

“You ready?” Phil twisted to look over his shoulder, spine bowing in a way that absolutely did _not_ make Clint picture Phil in that same pose but naked. “I’m...starving.” 

“Then we should get some food in you.” That was better. Less moron, more interested. “If that’s what you’re hungry for.” _No, Clint! No. Bad! Mustn’t come across as horny and desperate. At least not desperate._

“I don’t know.” Phil licked his lips again, and Clint stared at the gloss left on his bottom lip. “Do pancakes count as food?”

“A food group all its own, I think.” Clint smiled, shocked to discover he wasn’t forcing the expression. “God knows, SHIELD runs on breakfast and coffee.”

“And gossip.” Phil straightened up and swung his jacket back around his shoulders. “Don’t ever forget the gossip.”

Clint laughed and nodded, feeling his shoulders relax with Phil’s rear mostly out of sight and the more real, less flirtatious smile Phil shot his way. Clint was _great_ at breakfast dates.

*****

Scratch that. Clint was _terrible_ at breakfast dates. Why _had_ he chosen the diner with the smallest tables known to humankind? He had no idea what he was supposed to do with his feet, so his ankle ended up accidentally pinned between Phil’s shiny, shiny wingtips. Clint held very still, trying not to draw Phil’s attention to the fact: if Phil realized what he was doing, he’d probably stop doing it. 

In addition to pinning Clint’s Converse, the instep of Phil’s right shoe kept rubbing smoothly against the instep of Clint’s right foot. It was a nice kind of sensation. Not overtly sexual, but comfortable. Familiarity and trust and acceptance of the company all at once. Clint wished he could fit the rest of his body into his shoe.

“Dammit.” 

Clint’s focus snapped up from Phil’s feet to his hands. Phil was in the process of trying to pour syrup over a giant stack of pancakes, but he’d somehow managed to run a dribble across his own hand. He lazily lifted his hand to his mouth and began to lick the sticky off the back of each finger, and Clint couldn’t look away from the tip of his tongue.

“That looks delicious,” Clint said, surprised at how soft and hoarse his voice sounded to his own ears. 

“It is.” Phil’s sharp gaze caught Clint’s eyes, and they stared across the too-small table for a long, breathless moment. “Want a taste?”

Almost without considering the implications, Clint leaned forward, took Phil’s hand gently in one of his own, and lifted Phil’s fingertip to his own lips. Neither of them looked away, although Phil’s lips parted on a tiny gasp as Clint sucked a drop of syrup off the pad of Phil’s finger.

“Incredible.” Clint felt like he couldn’t get enough air, his voice getting fainter with each syllable. “Really, Phil. You’re...you’re some kind of incredible.” 

Phil’s eyes went wide, surprised and warm. 

“So’re you.” Phil turned his hand, linking his fingers with Clint’s. 

“Nah.” Clint rested their joined hands on the table between their coffee mugs. “I’m just a guy with a Paleolithic weapon, a gimpy dog, and a kinda weird life.”

“You’re amazing, Clint.” Every time Phil said his name, Clint felt his heart swell a little more behind his ribs, and breathing became incrementally more difficult. “I’ve been watching you since we met. And everything I’ve seen just makes me...admire you more. You’re good people.”

Clint wanted to answer, wanted to lean across the table and kiss the tiny glimmer of syrup off of Phil’s bottom lip. Wanted to sink under the table and hide until the blush fully faded from his cheeks. 

The frozen moment went on another heartbeat. Two. Three.

“We really should eat while it’s still hot.” Phil licked the syrup off his own lip, squeezed Clint’s fingers before letting go, and dropped his eyes to his plate. “I’m not sure I can resist the pull of jetlag too much longer.”

“Yeah.” Clint agreed, mostly because he would have agreed with any words that came out of Phil’s lips. “Yeah, eating is good. You should...you should do it sometimes.”

Phil gave a tiny, crooked, happy little smile, and Clint felt his ears heat further. 

*****

Clint stood awkwardly in the hall outside Phil’s apartment. He shifted his weight, rubbed the back of his neck, and basically did everything that Bobbi used to get so pissed off at him for doing ( _stand_ still _, Clint! Unless you’ve got a bow or a rifle in your hand, it’s like you’re a big three year old. I swear…_. Clint never could figure out what she was swearing to, exactly). He couldn’t come up with a way to ask if Phil’d enjoyed breakfast or if there’d be a next time. Or if maybe Clint could follow him into his apartment _this_ time and get on with the only part of relationships that ever made any sense in Clint’s book. 

That would be the sexual part.

“Breakfast was fantastic, Clint.” Phil didn’t even reach for his doorknob, just stood there in the hall, jacket hanging over one arm, smiling that same soft little smile at Clint. Such a little smile. Maybe just a smilette. Warmer than a smirk. More real, somehow. “I wish I could invite you in for more coffee, but I really _have_ to get some sleep.”

Clint nodded and bit his lip. Looked down at Phil’s shoes. Glanced up at the ceiling. Stuffed his hands deeply into his pockets. Pulled them out, rocked back on his heels and up onto his toes. Reached out to catch Phil by the back of his neck and reel him into a kiss.

Wait. Crap. Clint hadn’t been planning on that. He might have asked, if he thought kissing was a Thing That Should Be Done. If it’d been dinner, Clint _absolutely_ would have asked for a goodnight kiss. But breakfast was trickier. Clint didn’t even know for sure what kind of kiss he was giving _or_ getting. 

And then Phil turned, using his mass and secret ninja skills to push Clint against the wall, lifting onto his toes as he pushed Clint further into the plaster. Clint let out a terribly plaintive whine, and Phil laughed against his mouth, licking across Clint’s teeth like he just needed to taste the sound. Clint lost track of time a bit as they stood there and kissed, everyone’s hands staying above the waist, no one even trying for a nipple tweak. Just...kissing.

It was pretty nice. 

“So. Dinner tomorrow night?” Phil sank back down to flat-footed, and smiled up into Clint’s dazed-feeling face. “I’m on stand-down until Tuesday, and I’ve heard a rumor that you’re off until then, too.”

“Where’d you hear that?” Clint scowled, wondering if he should have checked his email that morning. 

“Fury.” Phil smiled at him again. He tipped his chin down slightly, shooting a playful, sultry look up through his eyelashes. “When he called to tell me you’d asked him when my flight was getting back. I was glad to see you there. It was a long, boring mission, and having breakfast with you just cheered me right up.”

Clint got ready to answer– with what, he had no idea– but Phil pushed him back against the wall and kissed him some more before pulling away with one last, gentle little peck.

“Come get me about six tomorrow?” Phil gave Clint another of those appealing glances. “I’ll have reservations ready.”

“Okay.” Clint nodded. “I’ll...I’ll see you then.”

Before Phil could get the door open, Clint caught his wrist, reeled him in and kissed him one more time. Just to see if it stayed as good as the first few.

It did.

Phil initiated the final kiss, and then he slipped out of Clint’s arms and through the door of his own apartment. The door closed behind him with a determined little click, and Clint absolutely did not knock to pull Phil out into one more kiss.

Well, maybe he did, but he felt he couldn’t be blamed. Man was too damned good with his lips.

*****

“I had an amazing time tonight.” Phil was the one leaning against the wall. He ran one hand up the side of Clint’s ribs and smiled, slow and wicked, before speaking again. “I really enjoy spending time with you.”

Clint bent the elbow that supported him, leaning down to press his lips against Phil’s kiss-reddened mouth. Phil moaned softly and opened to Clint’s tongue, wet and hot and receptive to being kissed, to having the softness of his tongue, the sharpness of the edges of his teeth traced and felt and tasted and…

“Please tell me you’re coming in with me.” Clint closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Phil’s, shivering at the heat of Phil’s breath puffing against his cheek. “Phil, please, I...Come in. Just for a little bit.”

“Okay.” Phil’s hoarse whisper made Clint’s hands shake. In all the ways he’d seen Phil– in charge on missions, proudly displaying the fruits of his baking, flirtatious and sultry and challenging– Clint had never _imagined_ that Phil could look and sound like this. Cracked open and broken. Perfectly imperfect, and someone Clint could maybe see himself with. 

Clint forced himself to back away from the magnetic pull of Phil’s slick, swollen mouth so he could dig his key out of his pocket to unlock the door. Two steps inside and he froze, horribly aware that he hadn’t picked up the contents of his go-bag. Every time he came home, it took him several days to get everything unpacked and actually put away. The couch was only half-covered in weapons, but the coffee table held a small stack of underwear and a pile of unfolded-but-clean t-shirts. His tac pants and dirty socks were piled in the middle of the room. And Clint couldn’t swear to it, but he was reasonably certain his sheets were wadded up on the bed and covered in dog hair. 

Whatever happened with Phil was going to have to happen in the kitchen (Kate had been by and washed his dishes in protest at some point), the bathroom, or on the roof. 

Before Clint could figure out a tactful way to say any of that, Phil had him by the hand and was firmly pulling him toward the couch. 

“Unpacking after a mission is such a pain in the ass.” Phil gave Clint a warm smile, and Clint let himself be towed. “Good thing you’ve got a big couch.”

Phil dropped himself down onto the empty side of the sofa and took both of Clint’s hands to pull him down. Clint folded as he dropped, straddling Phil’s thighs and leaning down to claim his mouth in another kiss. Phil arched up to meet him, arms looping tightly around Clint’s lower back and pulling him down into a position Clint hadn’t been in since he was fifteen years old: hard and horny, fully dressed, and grinding like a teenager who hadn’t discovered sex yet. 

_Goddamn_ , it was hot!

Time stood still, but Phil’s hands did not. He groped under Clint’s shirt until he could tweak his nipples, cupped his ass to heave him forward into new positions where their groins could rub, gripped the back of Clint’s neck hard enough to turn him into ever-more-optimal positions to kiss. Clint started to wonder if Phil was going to drive him right into making a mess in his jeans. Phil shifted to bite the tender point of tendon between Clint’s neck and shoulder, and Clint let out a low, desperate moan, trying to hold back his orgasm.

Just thirty seconds before it was too late, the front door opened, and Lucky came bounding into the room, barking happily and leaping onto the couch in a way that scattered sheathed knives, four guns, and a couple quivers of specialty arrows in all directions. He stuck his cold nose between Clint’s face and Phil’s and barked again, nearly suffocating them both with dog breath.

“Sorry, Clint, honey.” Aimee stood in the doorway, one hand on the knob and the other pressed to her lips. “I didn’t know you were home yet, or I’da just knocked. You, ah, you get back to what you were doing. If Lucky’ll let you. Have a nice evening.”

Phil dropped his head onto the back of the couch and began laughing, eyes closed, face relaxed. _Damn_ , he was hot like that. Clint leaned forward to press another kiss to the hollow of Phil’s throat, the thin, fragile skin showing between the points of his unbuttoned collar. Lucky interrupted with another questioning _woof_.

“Down, Lucky.” Clint pointed at the floor, and Lucky looked at his hand, looked at his face, and then stretched out to lick Clint’s finger. “Aww, dog, no! Down!”

Lucky stomped around on the few weapons he hadn’t managed to knock off and then turned around three times and curled up in optimal position to chew on the shaft of one arrow.

“Dammit, Lucky!” Clint sighed, defeated, and began to slowly disentangle himself from Phil’s laughter-loosened grip. “And there goes the mood. I don’t think I can, ya know...with, ah, with my dog watching. It’s just…”

“Clint.” Phil stood up, too and reached out carefully but firmly to grip Clint’s hips. “It’s okay. I’ve got an early morning meeting, and you’re supposed to be there, too.”

_Aww, mental calendar…_ If Clint’d been thinking, he’d have changed the sheets in hopes of convincing Phil to stay. They could go in together in the morning. It’d be _convenient!_

“Tonight was amazing.” Phil actually managed to look like he meant it. “Seriously. Just...amazing.”

“Next time–” Clint wasn’t sure how he meant to finish that sentence once he’d started it, so he cut off sharply.

“Next time we can either go to my place where no dog will interrupt, or we can plan ahead and find something to distract Lucky.” Phil kissed Clint again, firm and nice, but not too intense. And then he _turned around to talk to Lucky._ “You sure are a good boy, aren’t you, fella. Good dog, Lucky. Good boy.”

Lucky smiled up at him, his one eye bright and shining, tongue lolling out as his tail beat out a happy rhythm on the couch. Phil ruffled his ears and scratched his nose, then turned back to Clint.

“And you, Clint,” Phil smiled and rested the fingers of one hand in the middle of Clint’s chest, “you are one _helluva_ date. Sleep well tonight.”

He slipped out the door almost before Clint could process that; no one had _ever_ called Clint a “good date.” Good lay, maybe, but not date. Clint locked the door behind Phil’s departure and grinned all the way up the steps to his platform bed. Maybe dating was a thing Clint could get the hang of, if the person he tried to date was someone like Phil.

*****


	2. Pretty Purple Piggies (and Pr0n)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He was so...so…” Clint closed his eyes for a minute, and then lifted his arm away from his face to look at Kate. He could feel how wide and earnest his eyes had gone. “He was so calm about the whole thing. And then he _told me I was a good date!_ ”
> 
> Kate was silent a moment, and then she hummed thoughtfully as she ran her nail along the side of one of Clint’s toenails, apparently removing a smudge.
> 
> “Either you have him _seriously_ snowed, or you need to marry that man.” 
> 
> Porn With Plot (just a little bit of plot. Mostly just porn)

“Oh my God, Katie-Kate!” Clint stretched his arms wide across the floor. He was lying on his back, feet on the seat of the couch, dog flopped across his middle. Kate sat curled on one end of the sofa herself, steadily stroking purple polish over her fingernails. “The way he _kisses_! I thought I was going to…” He trailed off, unable and unwilling to use the phrase _jizz in my jeans_ in front of a kid. He also was unwilling to tell Kate that he thought she was still a kid; she’d never forgive him.

“I _really_ don’t want details.” Kate sniffed in a bored manner that clearly indicated how badly she _did_ want details. 

“Anyway.” Clint cleared his throat, and Kate blew on her fingernails and then shifted to sit beside Clint’s feet. She shook her nail polish bottle again and then started painting Clint’s toes. He’d never thought he’d end up spending so much time with pretty toenails, but there he was; pedicured within an inch of his life because Kate got her monthly foot-beautifying bug. He wasn’t about to tell her to stop; it was kinda nice, having someone actually caring for him for a change. Kate always seemed to think he needed some pampering when she decided to indulge in a little self-care. He wondered briefly what Phil would think, if their next date hit before the paint all chipped off. 

“Yes, anyway. Come _on_ , Clint!”

“Yeah, so there I was, about to, well, ya know. In my pants and all.”

Kate snickered, and Clint absolutely did not kick her. She’d already proven that she was more than willing to just dump polish on him, if she thought he deserved it. 

“And the door opens right up.”

“Oh my _God_!” Kate started giggling.

“Next thing I know, there’s dog tongue between my mouth and Phil’s.” Clint sighed heavily and threw an arm over his eyes. “I’ve never, er, deflated so fast in my life.”

“What’d Phil have to say about an Invasion of the Pizza Dog?” Kate propped her elbow between Clint’s ankles and started on his other foot. Clint carefully lifted the first foot out of her way to keep from smudging the pretty purple sparkles while she applied them to his second. 

“He was so...so…” Clint closed his eyes for a minute, and then lifted his arm away from his face to look at Kate. He could feel how wide and earnest his eyes had gone. “He was so calm about the whole thing. And then he _told me I was a good date!_ ”

Kate was silent a moment, and then she hummed thoughtfully as she ran her nail along the side of one of Clint’s toenails, apparently removing a smudge.

“Either you have him _seriously_ snowed, or you need to marry that man.” Kate patted his ankle to tell him she was finished, and then shifted to prop one foot on one of Clint’s shins in order to paint her own toenails. “Really, really, Clint. Lock it down before someone else snipes that.”

*****

Clint figured that marriage proposals weren't exactly a topic for second dates, so he filed Kate's advice away. He did eagerly accept Phil's dinner invitation when it came by text a week later. 

Well, actually what he'd ended up typing was _YYY, pleas_ , which was probably both too enthusiastic and too grammatically incorrect, but he'd hit send before noticing his mistakes. Since Phil's answer was a kissing emoji, Clint refrained from sending a correction or an apology. He’d never bought into the “playing disinterested” games, anyway, figuring that, if he _was_ interested, the other party deserved to know. Besides, kissing emojis were just enough outside the calm Agent-polish exterior of Phil at work that Clint figured Phil was pretty excited, too.

He let Kate drag him out shopping, wanting to look his best. Well, better than his best. His wardrobe was limited to a suit with a bullet tear in the sleeve, his at-home jeans and Avengers-themed t-shirts, or his tac-pants/t-shirt/tac-vest combo. Clint had no idea what kind of place Phil intended to take him to eat, so he deferred to Kate’s expertise on All Matters of Dating Clothes. 

Before he headed out, Clint stopped in front of his bathroom mirror– weird lighting be damned– and thought that maybe he actually did look pretty good. The new sweater he sported over a tight black t-shirt (with an arrow on the front; he was still _Clint_ ) was his favorite shade of purple, incredibly soft, just a little fuzzy, and clung to all his muscles. The new jeans, a dark, oily black, certainly played up his best asset, and the boots she’d forced him to buy ( _But they’re full price, Katie-Kate!_ ) gave the outfit a little bit of bad-boy appeal. Maybe, for once, Clint would be able to feel like he was at least nominally in charge of things around I’m-Too-Cool-For-Words Phil Coulson. 

That was another thing: Clint had finally figured out Phil’s last name. It helped that Fury had introduced _Agent Coulson_ at the meeting the morning after their last date, seconds before Phil had shot Clint a sexy little grin and then stood up to take control of the proceedings. A quick glance around the room showed that Clint wasn’t the only one who thought Phil was the hottest thing on two legs. The way Phil preened at the attention, Clint was pretty sure Phil agreed. And yet, after a challenging smirk or two at a few of the others who were hungrily eyeing Phil up, he went back to smiling only for Clint, just that little smilette that Clint was quickly coming to think of as _his_. At the end, Phil also made eye contact for a few seconds too long before leaving the conference room, and Clint tried really hard not to, well, get hard.

That kind of attention could go to a guy’s head. 

So to speak.

On the night of their date, Clint knocked on Phil’s front door and propped himself against the side of the doorframe, trying to look appealing. He hoped he looked appealing, at least, and not just utterly ridiculous. It was such a fine line, most days.

“Hey, Phi–” 

Clint didn’t get any further before he was reeled in by his beltloop and kissed. Phil managed to get them both inside the apartment, get the door shut, and pin Clint to it in about three seconds. _God_ that was hot! Clint clung to Phil’s broad shoulders and tried to keep his knees from buckling. The kiss went on _forever_ , and Clint got lost in it. He forgot to worry about looking good, forgot to wonder if he was doing it right, forgot _everything_ except the heat of Phil’s mouth, his hands, his thigh pushing between Clint’s legs.

Phil finally pulled away, slowly, letting his teeth scrape along Clint’s lip as he went.

“We have reservations.” Phil stretched up to kiss Clint again. “If we want to keep them, we’re going to have to get going.” He kissed Clint again, pressing in and leading with his tongue.

Clint sucked in a deep breath and wrapped his arms more tightly around Phil’s ribs, fitting their bodies together and rolling into the friction of Phil’s hip against his erection.

“And I really don’t want to lose them, because I had to call in a helluva favor to get them.”

It was Clint’s turn to initiate a kiss, so he did, tightening his grip to pull Phil in.

“Come on, baby.” Phil closed his eyes and kissed Clint once more, soft and nearly gentle. It would have been almost innocent if their lips hadn’t been so wet they slid and barely caught. “Dinner first, and then we can get back to this.” He kissed Clint again, then put both hands against Clint’s chest to push himself back. “And you look _amazing_.”

Phil looked damned good, too. He was wearing a pair of dark grey slacks and a bright blue dress shirt that brought out his eyes. The shirt was undone a racy two buttons, and Clint wanted to press his lips against the delicate hollow of Phil’s throat, the tiny wisp of dark chest hair that he could see just above the top-most button. The view from the back was hella good when Phil turned away to collect a darker grey jacket from the back of a chair. _God_ , that man had an ass you could bounce a quarter off. Clint thought he could just sit on the couch and watch Phil walk around doing nothing major all evening long. He _also_ thought that probably wasn’t a thing he should say.

“I could just stare at you all night.” _Aww, mouth._

Phil suddenly ducked his head, cheeks pinking, and Clint stepped forward and reached out to feel if his skin had warmed. 

(It had.)

“Thanks.” Phil gave him another of those unexpectedly sweet smiles, and it was Clint’s turn to blush and shuffle and look away, taking his hand off of Phil’s face to grab the back of his own neck. “Come on. Let’s get food in us before we get too sappy. Wouldn’t want to put anyone else off their dinner.”

Clint waited for him to lock his door, and then he reached out and slipped his fingers between Phil’s. It was only after he’d gotten a warm, comforting squeeze in reply that he suddenly realized he should have asked first. It all just felt so _easy_ to slip into a physical closeness with Phil, to forget all the ways he’d been taught by past experience to ask and follow instead of leaping in and leading the contact. Still, though, Phil didn’t seem to mind; he actually seemed to _like_ that Clint was willing to push a little, get closer, be the first one to reach out, the first one to touch. Clint thought that maybe, as long as he kept getting signs that Phil approved, that Phil _wanted_ Clint’s touch and attention, just _maybe_ he could keep going.

He knew how to seduce someone, how to coax someone to kiss him without having to make the first move. Knew how to woo someone into taking him to bed. All his relationships had gone from offering easy sex to finding himself in some kind of regular sort of thing. Even his marriage had gone much that way. With Phil, though, Clint seemed to have found himself on the receiving end of the wooing, and he found himself responding with even more enthusiasm than he’d gotten out of any of his past partners. He just felt like, if Phil was agreeable to the touching, then Clint couldn’t quite get enough of it.

And they hadn’t even fucked yet.

Maybe that was where Clint’d been going wrong all along. Maybe he should have tried this– this dating and kissing and holding hands and getting-to-know-you– before getting in bed with anyone. Maybe if he had, he’d have realized that Jess wanted them to have been a... a thing. Well, a _Thing_. More relationship, less just a fun time. Hell, Clint still wasn’t sure about what she’d wanted. Or what _he’d_ wanted from her, which was how he’d managed to fuck _that_ one up. Phil, though, Phil was acting more like he thought their dates and couch-necking were leading somewhere. 

Maybe even somewhere kinda serious. Or something like that.

They made it all the way to the subway before either of them spoke again. They both stood, Phil probably to keep from creasing his slacks, and Clint because he liked having room around him in case of an unexpected Russian mobster or two. They both gripped the same pole to brace, and Clint found most of his attention captured by the tiny brown flecks in Phil’s blue eyes. Phil leaned close enough that his breath tickled across Clint’s freshly-shaved cheek, close enough that Clint could hear him easily, but no one else would catch the words.

“I’d have loved to have you right there in my foyer.” He even pronounced it _foy-yay_ , and Clint felt himself swoon a bit. The train swung around a corner, and Phil’s lips brushed Clint’s earlobe, making him shiver. Phil seemed to notice, and he brushed a kiss across the same place before he leaned back just enough for Clint to see his mouth. He scraped his teeth across his bottom lip before he continued in a warm, soft voice. “I would have said damn the reservations, honestly, but I also love getting to spend time actually talking to you, and I don’t think I’d have said much more than ‘oh god, oh god, yes’ if we’d gotten naked that fast.”

Clint opened his mouth to answer, realized that there was _no way_ he could answer something like that, so instead he just smiled and felt himself blush a bit. Phil smiled in return and squeezed Clint’s fingers again. 

That was the first time that Clint realized they were still holding hands.

Well, hand-holding in public explained all the sideways not-looks they were getting. New Yorkers were a bunch of nosy assholes, for all that they pretended not to notice anything going on around them. Clint bet there’d be a dozen posts about the hot male couple spotted on the subway popping up on blogs all over the city that night. Some of them might even realize that the story featured The Amazing Hawkeye (except he’d probably still be labeled “Iron Fist,” and wouldn’t _that_ be hilarious). Well, let ‘em stare. _Damn straight_ they were the sexiest couple in the city.

Well, so not really _straight_.

Still. Hottest couple out on the town.

Clint leaned a little more firmly into Phil’s side, thrilling at the feel of Phil’s muscles flexing against the movement of the train, and didn’t even try to hide the smugness he could feel in his smile.

*****

“Aww, dog! No!” 

Clint closed his eyes and sighed. Dinner had been amazing, both the food and the conversation. Phil had suggested they go back to Clint’s, and Clint decided he should probably take Lucky out before he got too distracted and forgot.

Phil, useless bastard, just leaned against a nearby lamppost and laughed. And laughed. And then he laughed some more. The pale golden glow of the lamplight flashed off his teeth, teased extra shadows from the crinkles around his eyes, and glittered on the tear that escaped onto his cheek from the force of his laughter. Clint wanted to tell him to shut up and he wanted to kiss him in equal measure. Come to think of it...doing the latter would probably make the former happen. Clint let Lucky get on with his right-on-the-sidewalk business and stepped across to catch Phil by the hip. Phil’s laughter trailed off, his eyes sparked with heat even in the dim, sulfurous glow of the light, and he met Clint halfway. It’d just started to get interesting when a snort from someone walking up the path interrupted.

“Hey, mister!” The kid couldn’t have been more than about twelve (okay, she was probably closer to twenty-five, but everyone under thirty looked like a kid to Clint). “Your dog took a shit _right on the damned sidewalk!_ ”

Clint sighed heavily and pulled a roll of plastic bags out of his pocket. Phil just laughed again and reached up to wipe a tear of hilarity out of his eye. With Phil actually _laughing until he cried_ , Clint couldn’t keep up any kind of annoyance. He scooped the poo up with the bag, knotted the top, and gave it a toss toward the nearest trash receptacle. 

“He shoots, he scores!” Phil stood up and raised both hands above his head. “Team Lucky-Barton are world champions!”

Clint gave up and laughed, too. He also accepted the squirt of hand sanitizer that Phil offered, even though he hadn’t actually touched anything but the outside of the plastic bag. If it made Phil feel better about being touched, Clint would take it. Phil gave him a bright, happy smile, and Clint leaned forward to kiss him again.

“Walk a little further with me?” Phil touched Clint’s face with fingers cooled by the night air, and goosebumps popped out all down Clint’s arms.

“Of course.”

They fell into step, and Phil moved first to take Clint’s hand in his.

“I’m not very good at dating.” Phil’s words took Clint entirely by surprise, and he missed half a step. His body, trained by decades of needing to balance without thought, corrected itself, and Phil didn’t even seem to notice his near-stumble. “I mean, taking someone _on_ a date is fine. Seduction, hooking up, that’s all good. But really being with someone is...not something I’ve had much practice at. I guess it’s...that’s probably pretty obvious to you. From what I can tell, you have that whole relationship thing down. I mean, the few times I’ve tried to...to be in a thing, it hasn’t ended well. But I’ve seen the way your exes at SHIELD look at you. Even after things have ended, they still care about you. Still genuinely like you.”

Clint stopped dead on the sloping path, accidentally jerky Lucky up short. Was Phil...deficient or something? How the _hell_ had he failed to see how terrible Clint was at relationshipping? Clint watched him out of the corner of his eye, confused about where the conversation had gone sideways and how it could possibly right itself.

“First time I saw you,” Phil coughed gently, and Clint thought his ears and cheeks looked darker, like he might be blushing, “I wanted you. Well, I mean, who _wouldn’t_? Have you _seen_ yourself? But you were...you were _involved_ , and so I just enjoyed the view. And I might have fed my little crush a bit by asking around about you. Plying you with baked goods at meetings to get to talk to you a little. ”

Great. Now Clint was blushing, too, and he hadn’t managed to get his tongue unglued from the roof of his mouth. He forced himself to start walking, and Phil squeezed his fingers again. Their hands fit well together, and their strides matched easily. Clint wondered if it was a leftover military thing, Phil’s ability to fall into step, or if it was just because they fit together so well. Clint tilted his head back, looking for wisdom in the stars or some kind of bullshit, but even in the park, the city lights kept all but the brightest, bravest stars away. Lucky’s tail brushed his leg in an unsteady beat where it swung around oddly with his limping walk.

After a long moment of silence, Phil squeezed Clint’s hand more tightly and started talking again.

“Without really meaning to, I got to know more about you. Got to know more about _Clint Barton_ instead of Hawkeye.” Phil stopped dead and pulled Clint around to face him. “I swear, all I’d wanted was a way to find out just enough to have a conversation with you now and again. Just to see your smile. Hear your laugh. And then the rumor started up around SHIELD about...about your dog, actually. That you’d rescued Lucky from some kind of Russian mobsters or something, and then you’d, you know, kept him.” 

Clint watched Phil’s entire face go dark, a full-head flush in the barely-there light that probably only Clint’s sharp eyes could have seen. His _dog_? Phil was dating him for the _dog_? What the _fuck_? Clint’d been used for a lot of things, but he’d never thought his one-eyed mutt would be the goal.

“I know it’s stupid,” Phil continued, looking up at the sky like he was trying to hide. “Seriously, though. That you’d go out of your way to take care of an injured dog, and then _keep_ it…” Phil trailed off and then looked down into Clint’s eyes, taking a small step closer. His palm was warm against Clint’s, dry and strong and rough in patterns that showed his long practice with a gun in his off hand. “Just sounded like you might be the kind of person who looked for value in...in everything. Everyone.”

Clint’s throat closed around the cool evening air. No one had ever...had ever looked at him the way Phil was: respect, but not hero worship; admiration, but more than physical. 

“In a way, I was glad you were in a relationship at the time.” Phil edged another inch closer, and Clint wanted to pull him in the last couple of inches, to press their lips together and taste the words Phil was pouring out to the night and to Clint. “Someone who takes in injured dogs and sassy protegés and an _entire building_ of people to care for them or teach them or keep them safe, well, that’s the kind of person I could never be content to have just once. But I was just getting my feet under me at work, and I wasn’t ready for a more than once kind of thing.”

Clint heard himself make a strange sound in his throat, echoed by a whine from Lucky. 

“And then, when the rumor went around that you had broken up, I decided that I was damned well going to _be_ ready, if you were even a little interested. But...” Phil stepped forward and tangled his fingers through Clint’s on the leash, squeezing both of Clint’s hands tightly. “ I should have been...I should have been a better person. I should have, um, I shouldn’t have been _glad_ to hear that you and Jess had, ah, that you weren’t involved anymore. But I was glad of the chance. To, well, to try with you.”

“But she only dumped me because I was...I was an asshole.” The confession punched its way out of Clint’s mouth before he could bite his tongue to stop it, and, once he’d started talking, he couldn’t seem to stop. “I wasn’t paying enough attention, or...or something. I thought we were just, ya know, having fun. I didn’t know we were supposed to be a...a thing. I mean, I knew we were together, but I didn’t know we were together-together. And then I just forgot all about her when I was offered...I mean I...There was a woman who–” 

Clint managed to stop himself before he went any further with _that_ part of the confession, at least. He figured Phil probably didn’t want details of Clint’s previous sexual encounters. He sucked in a deep breath and finished miserably, “I was an asshole.”

“Oh.” Phil blinked twice, face wiped blank. He took a deep breath and looked back into Clint’s eyes, gaze steady and calm and grounding, and Clint thought he could stand to be looked at that way forever. “Did you set out to cheat on her?”

“What?!” Clint felt his spine snap straight. “No! I wouldn’t! I couldn’t...I’d never…!”

“Do you regret it?” Phil’s eyes were serious, but he seemed to be watching Clint without judgement. Clint wondered if he was always so patient, so understanding. “Would you do it again?”

“No! I mean, yes! I mean…” Clint took a deep breath and freed one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Yeah I regretted it, hurting her. I apologized and meant it, but it didn’t do any good. Which is fair. I’d _never_ knowingly hurt someone. Not like that.”

“Okay.” Phil bobbed his head. “Good then.” His calm, stoic face cracked into a soft smile, and he reached up to cup the side of Clint’s face. He spoke low and urgently, voice steady and a little louder than before. “I want you to really hear this, okay?”

Clint nodded, lost in the dark shadows of Phil’s gaze under the dim lamplight and the perpetual glow of the city beyond the trees.

“I really, _really_ like spending time with you.” Phil took a tiny step closer. “You’re hot and you’re funny and you’re kind. You have a lot of friends and admirers, and you could be choosing to spend your Friday night with any of them.” Phil’s eyebrows squinched together, and then he gave a sideways tip of his head, like he was conceding to an argument. “Unless the world needed saving, I suppose.”

Clint barked a laugh, and Lucky whined again, his tail thumping against Clint’s leg as his tongue lolled out and he smiled up at the two of them.

“But for right now, I’d like to try to create something with you.” Phil reached down to pat Lucky’s head before taking Clint’s hand again. “Something exclusive. I don’t know if we’ll go very far, or if we’ll have a happy ending. I’ve been told I’m stubborn and that I always think I’m right, so it probably won’t go smoothly.”

“Well I _know_ I’m stubborn,” Clint answered, leaning forward the last two inches to press his chest to Phil’s. Phil’s breath caught a little in his throat, and Clint inhaled deeply to push his breastbone harder against Phil, feeling like he was trying to pull Phil under his ribs, invite him in to Clint’s heart physically as well as emotionally. “And I usually think I’m wrong, but that doesn’t ever seem to stop me. But I’d like to...I’d like that, too. All of that.”

Phil grinned at him, a brilliant, happy, challenging flash of a smile, and then he dropped both of Clint’s hands and reached up to tangle his fingers into Clint’s hair. They fell into a kiss that might have gotten out of hand again if they hadn’t both been stuck on goofy smiles. 

“I think Lucky’s done.” Phil pulled back and gave Clint a smoldering sort of look. “So maybe we should head back for your place.”

Clint wanted to answer that it was the best idea he’d ever heard, but he was still to busy trying to wrap his head around someone wanting to be in a relationship with _him_. His heart thumped hard in his chest at the idea, and heat welled up in his belly at the suggestion in Phil’s expression. It was all so overwhelming that all Clint managed to squeeze out was a very small, very breathy _yes, please._ Phil’s smile just grew in answer, so Clint figured he was maybe still doing okay.

*****

Clint opened his front door, oddly excited to show Phil the apartment beyond. He’d picked up over the week, and then spent Thursday night in a near-orgy of cleaning. He’d wiped out his microwave, scoured counters and his sink. He’d even dug the bits of rice and dessicated french fries out from under the burners on his stove. The bathroom had been wiped as clean as Clint could make it, and he’d changed the sheets on his bed. He’d managed to convince himself _not_ to put a rose on the purple comforter, both for his own masculinity _and_ to keep himself from being too disappointed if Phil didn’t make it upstairs to see the bed. He’d even swept the floors, and he was _fairly_ certain that it was safe to walk around, if not actually barefoot, at least in socks.

Phil glanced around the place as soon as Clint flipped on a few lights. He smiled at Clint, and then leaned over to kiss his cheek and whisper something about appreciating Clint’s effort. He finished with “But I’m not here to see your place, Clint. I’m just glad to be with you.”

Clint busied himself with filling Lucky’s water dish in hopes of hiding the blush he just _knew_ was turning his entire neck red. Phil gave him that smilette and then turned his attention to the dog.

“Good boy, Lucky.” Phil waited until Lucky was done drinking (and slopping water all over the floor), and then he knelt down and reached into his pocket. “Your daddy and I have some plans this evening, and, while I think you’re a very good dog–” Lucky looked at him with his tongue lolling in adoration; Clint knew the feeling– “Yes you are! You’re a good dog!” Phil reached out to scratch his ears. “You _are_ a good dog, but you’re going to have to keep yourself busy for a bit.” 

Phil reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a dog chewie. And, huh. Clint had figured Phil was just carrying a SHIELD walkie or a phone or some other way to stay in touch with the office. Finding out that the lump in his jacket had _actually_ been a way to give them some uninterrupted time was just...really incredibly flattering, and more than a little hot.

Lucky carefully lifted the chewie out of Phil’s hand and ambled over to flop in his rarely-used dog bed in the corner. Phil watched him with a satisfied smile, and the gentleness of his face, his consideration for the limpy dog filled Clint’s chest with a different kind of heat than what had built below his belt. Phil straightened slowly, and Clint couldn’t wait anymore. He caught Phil by the lapels before he was entirely upright and reeled him into a hard kiss. 

“You, Agent Phil Coulson,” Clint broke the kiss to gasp out a few words, “are the hottest, most incredible man I have ever known.”

Much to Clint’s utter surprise and unending delight, Phil made a tiny squeak in answer, face blushing a brilliant fuchsia. Clint laughed, released his grip on Phil’s jacket, and moved to slide his arms around Phil’s waist beneath his jacket.

“So what did you have in mind for these _plans_ you told Lucky about?” Clint slid one hand up Phil’s back to feel the ripple of his muscles under the crisp cotton of his shirt. The satin lining was hot against Clint’s knuckles. He moved his other hand down, calluses snagging lightly on the soft wool as he curved his palm around the firmness of Phil’s plump ass. It felt every bit as good as Clint had imagined it would, and he could hardly wait to try the same moves without clothing in the way. 

“Well, I figure we’ve got a few options here.” Phil tucked his right hand under the edge of Clint’s sweater, and the warmth of his fingers made Clint shiver even through his t-shirt. “We could go back to the couch and continue where we left off last week.”

“That’s a good idea.” Clint pulled Phil closer and nuzzled into the side of his neck, breathing in the spicy-warm scent where his aftershave clung beneath his collar. He pressed his lips to the softest skin at the base of Phil’s neck, tongue reaching out instinctively, like he thought he could taste Phil’s pulse. Goosebumps popped up against his mouth, and Clint kept nibbling and kissing right at that spot. “What’s behind door number two?”

“We throw pretense to the wind and take this thing directly to your bed and get down to, um, business.” Phil’s heartbeat sped up against Clint’s lips as he said it, and Clint felt his own pulse dial up a notch to match. 

“Is there a third option?” It wasn’t that plans number one and two didn’t sound good; they both sounded _awesome_. It just seemed to Clint like picking one without hearing all the choices would be a terrible waste. Besides, if they were doing this...this dating thing, then there would probably be time to get around to any plans not chosen that very night. And many more plans beside.

“The third and last option...” Phil turned his head to bite Clint’s earlobe before continuing. “Option three is that we just start where were are right this minute and see where we end up.”

“Oh, I _like_ that one.” Clint stepped away just far enough to slide Phil’s jacket off his shoulders and toss it toward the hook beside the front door. “I think I like that one very, very much.”

“Good.” Phil smiled his crooked little half-smile. One of his hands quivered as he reached out to catch Clint by the hip, and Clint watched Phil’s other hand for a second, fascinated to see a tremble there, too. “Plan three it is then.”

“I just have to ask,” Clint reached up to unfasten the third button of Phil’s shirt, “when do you have to head for home?”

“I’m not expected at the office tomorrow.” Phil sucked in a hard breath, and his eyes fell to half mast as Clint’s fingers traced lightly over the hollow of his throat. “So unless something blows up or Doombots attack, I’m here for as long as you want me to be.”

Clint wanted to suggest that Phil just stay forever, but that seemed like it’d be moving a bit fast. Even for Clint. So, to keep anything too awkward from popping out of his mouth, he tilted forward to cover Phil’s mouth with his own. Phil met him eagerly, strong arms locking around Clint’s shoulders. Around kisses, Clint managed to get two more of Phil’s buttons unfastened, and it gave him enough room to pull Phil’s collar away from his neck, let Clint’s mouth find all the tender places on the thin skin he uncovered. Phil chuckled fondly, fingers tracing through Clint’s hair and down the back of his neck as Clint nipped pale pink marks everywhere his mouth could reach. 

“Are you making love to me or devouring me?” His tone was light and teasing, but too throaty, breathy. Clint could relate to that feeling; the warmth of Phil’s clean-scented aftershave, the smoothness of his skin against Clint’s lips, the silkiness of his chest hair against Clint’s fingertips, made Clint feel a little light-headed. Made his throat a little tight.

Phil pushed Clint back gently and, after running his palms over Clint’s sweater one last time, he grabbed the hem and jerked it over Clint’s head. The t-shirt followed quickly, and Clint found himself clinging to the edge of his bar as Phil sucked and bit at his nipples. Clint was going to give it thirty seconds more, and then tell Phil to quit it, since it almost too much pleasure.

Well, maybe a whole minute. 

…

Five at the outside.

Okay, fine, Clint could wait, and he _would not_ come in his jeans like a teenager. No matter how good it felt.

“Shit, Phil!” Clint caught Phil’s chin and pulled it up until he could capture Phil’s lips with his own again, kissing him hard and thrilling in the slide where Phil’s mouth and chin had gotten sloppy as he’d abused Clint’s nipples. Where Phil’s shirt rubbed against Clint’s chest, it set off crackles of electric pleasure that jolted all the way to his balls. “You keep that up, and we’re not going to get anything else tonight. Some of us aren’t as young as, um, you.”

Phil laughed, low and dirty. 

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Clint,” Phil paused to kiss him again, “but you only have about five years on me. Don’t mean to ruin your fantasy of the younger man trying to seduce you into being his boyfriend.”

“You really mean that.” Clint tilted his head, but Phil’s face looked just as honest and serious from that angle. “I just...damn, Phil. You’re smart and you’re sexy and you’re just so...you. I don’t get what you want with a battered old carnie like me.”

“I don’t see a ‘battered old carnie’ when I look at you.” Phil kissed him lightly, once on the lips, on the apple of his cheek, lightly at the corner of his eye. “I see a really great guy who is willing to do anything to help people who need it. A talented agent who can get the job done. A superhero whose greatest gift is his giant heart.”

Phil cleared his throat and glanced away, and Clint took the opportunity to suck in a breath to replace all the air that had punched out of his lungs at Phil’s praise. 

“I also see a guy that I really, _really_ want to get naked with.” Phil laughed again and reached down to unbutton Clint’s fly. “But I’d have thought that was pretty obvious by now.”

Was that a challenge? Because it _sounded_ like a challenge. Clint reached down and forward, curving his fingers around the heft of Phil’s erection through the smooth fabric of his slacks. Phil made a broken, stuttery sound that Clint began to think _had_ to be the hottest noise he’d ever heard. It was _certainly_ the hottest noise Clint’d ever managed to coax out of another person. He traced his thumb along the edge of Phil’s dick, shocked at how far it reached across Phil’s pelvis, curving up until it ended less than an inch from the point of his hipbone. 

“Yeah.” Clint’s voice came out rough through the dryness in his throat at the thought of trying to take that monster. “Yeah, that’s...that’s pretty, ahhh, noticeable.”

Phil laughed, soft and low and dirty as hell, and then he grabbed Clint by the crotch and squeezed, just enough to make Clint rock forward onto his toes and moan aloud.

“Pretty noticeable from here, too.” Phil reached up with his free hand and grabbed the back of Clint’s neck, pulling his face down to kiss him again. It was a businesslike kind of kiss: firm and dry and clearly imbued with meaning (and _God_ , did Clint hope it meant orgasms were to follow). “How about we start moving this in the general direction of your bed and see if we can’t maybe figure out a way to get _your_ cock and _my_ cock better acquainted.”

“Ohhellyesplease!” Clint caught Phil’s hips and pushed him backwards, toward the stairs to the loft and bed. He was going to be smooth, cool, calm. He would get Phil upstairs, naked and then–

Clint’s brain did the mental equivalent of the spinny thing that always came up on his work computers. 

He had no idea what _and then_ entailed. Presumably, if orgasms were on the table, that meant that sex was on the table. And, while Clint wasn’t exactly _new_ to fucking or being fucked by guys, it’d been a while (a really _long_ while) since he’d had sex that involved two participants possessed of dicks. He wanted Phil, and he’d even top him quite happily, should it come to that, but Clint also kinda _really_ wanted to be held down and fucked. He’d have already said so, in fact, if he hadn’t just grabbed at the goods and found them rather...intimidating. 

Phil seemed to sense Clint’s hesitance, and he stopped backing up and pulled Clint close, kissing him more gently than before. 

“Hey, what’s the matter?” He kissed Clint again, running one hand up Clint’s stomach and his chest, fingers tracing every tiny ripple of muscle and each tiny scar. “You gotta talk to me so we can stay on the same page, yeah?”

Clint took another deep breath to steady his nerves. He vaguely remembered people he’d been involved with in the past saying the same thing, but he couldn’t ever remember being told to _talk_ sounding so comforting. 

“How, uh, I mean, what are you…” Clint swallowed hard and carefully stepped a half-inch further away from Phil, hoping it’d clear his own head. “How are we going to, ya know? Like, who’s fucking whom?”

Phil chuckled softly and pulled Clint closer, ducking his head just a bit to scrape his teeth hard over Clint’s collarbone. 

“Ow, shit!” Clint laughed, feeling giddy and suddenly hopeful. “Do it again!”

Phil obliged by biting just a fraction harder, and Clint wondered if he’d be wearing Phil’s dental impressions the next morning. Hell of an ident-card!

“I’m thinking we skip figuring out dick politics this time,” Phil said, pausing to bite Clint’s shoulder, higher onto his trapezius, “and instead just get naked, throw some lube around, and see how long we can rub off on each other before we both come.”

“Oh.” Clint thought about that for a minute, feeling the not-happy butterflies in his stomach starting to settle. He grinned brightly at Phil and leaned in to kiss him, light and quick, but got distracted midway through. It took a few minutes for Clint to come back to what they were doing, but he eventually remembered and spun Phil around to frogmarch him up the stairs. “Yeah, I think we should get right on that plan!”

Phil laughed all the way up the steps, but, right at the top, he managed to do some sneaky-ninja thing, and he was suddenly not only free from Clint’s grip, he’d pinned Clint to his own bed.

“Whoa.” Clint blinked up at his ceiling, glanced at Phil’s smug smirk above him, and then took a deep, shaking breath. “You have _got_ to show me how you did that.”

“I can do that.” Phil sounded as smug as he looked. He settled himself down onto Clint’s chest, folding his arms under his chin. “I _am_ hoping that you don’t mean right now, however. I have some other ideas for strenuous physical exercises that _don’t_ include hand-to-hand combat training.”

“If you’re sure you won’t forget all your moves in the excitement of bedding me.” _Aww, mouth, no._ Clint tried to cover his bad line by grabbing Phil under the arms and heaving him up close enough to kiss. If he couldn’t make Phil forget bad lines, at least he could keep his own mouth too busy for any more to fall out. 

Phil pulled out of the kiss first, bracing himself enough to push up, face all soft and smile a little goofy. 

“I think I can hold onto them.” Phil winked, silly and exaggerated, before he continued, “I bet can hold onto something anyway.”

_Holy shit._ Clint just gaped at Phil. He could feel his own mouth hanging open, but he couldn’t manage to close it. “You’re...you’re a really big dork.”

_Aww,_ shit _, mouth! Nooo!_

Phil started to giggle–positively _giggle_ – and Clint grabbed him around the ribs and rolled, pinning him to the bed. He couldn’t help himself, giggling along with Phil’s bright little snigger. He took just a second to indulge in a kiss that was more of bumping their grinning mouths together, just so he would later be able to say he’d tasted Phil’s laugh. 

“So, have I told you that I’ve been listening to the gossip about you lately?” Clint climbed on top of Phil, hitching up his unfastened jeans to give himself room to straddle Phil’s hips. He slid his hands over Phil’s shoulders, inside his unbuttoned shirt. “And everyone seems to think you’re some kind of sexy, perfect sex god- Sit up. Let’s get this shirt off”

Phil sat up, smiling with a smug little smirk, and Clint kissed him while he pushed Phil’s shirt off his shoulders and down his arms.

“They also seem to think that anyone who’s been to bed with you has been blessed.” Clint’s hips unconsciously swung forward, and Phil gave a soft little grunt of pleasure. “And I’m beginning to believe the gossip.”

“And all I could think yesterday, listening to the reception staff talk about you...” Clint dragged Phil’s undershirt over his head, flinging it aside quickly to get his fingertips pressed deep into the silky hair over Phil’s muscular, freckled chest. “ _All_ I could think about was how you’d felt under me after our last date. The way you tasted, the way you kissed. And...and then I remembered how you’d said _next time_. Like...like it was something you’d been thinking about. And then I just...I couldn’t believe that...that Phil ‘Get It’ Coulson wanted, ya know...me.”

Phil’s face had gone redder and redder through Clint’s speech, and then leaned forward to wrap his arms tightly around Clint’s waist. 

“First, I can’t _believe_ that damned nickname made it out of academy.” Phil kissed Clint’s collarbone, right over one of the bruises he’d nipped into existence earlier. “Second, I’ve been thinking about how short our time was on your couch, and I was _determined_ to plan better this time. So I wouldn’t have to run out right when things were getting...interesting. And third, _Goddamn_ , Clint. You’re...you’re a damned _superhero_! Who wouldn’t want to...to be with you?”

“But you don’t.” Clint shook his head sharply. “You don’t act like you...I mean, I’m not much of a hero. I just...I _try_ really hard, but I’m not sure I’m always going about things the right way. I’m not like...like Cap or Tony or...Anyway. I’m not much of a hero.” Clint tried to quit babbling and get to the point. “And you don’t...you don’t act like you wanna bang Hawkeye or whatever. I mean, you seem to prefer _Clint_. Um. In spite of how hard it is for me to shut up.”

Phil’s back tightened under Clint’s palms, his chest flexed against Clint’s, and Clint found himself tumbled back onto his own bed and kissed. Passionately. Phil gentled the kiss after a moment, and Clint managed to open his eyes, focusing on the blurred patterns of freckles on Phil’s cheeks. Phil’s lashes fluttered open, and he pulled back another inch or two. 

“You’re right.” Phil kissed him again, just a there-then-gone brush of his lips. “I _don’t_ want to fuck Hawkeye.” Phil kissed him again. “But I would really, really like to make sexy-as-hell boyfriend who’s also the most kind, fun person I’ve _ever_ met feel really, _really_ good right about now. How does that sound?”

Clint’s heart had crawled up to try to choke him, and he could barely get words out around the lump in his throat. He knew he had to say something, though, make some kind of response. Phil smiled at him again, all melty and warm, and Clint thought that maybe, just maybe Phil understood how he felt. He smiled back at Phil as best he could, feeling it crooked and maybe a little watery.

“Sounds like we're both wearing too much clothing,” he said hoarsely. He pushed himself up on his elbows to better reach Phil's mouth, kissing him lightly from one corner of his warm smile to the other. “And while I'm usually all in favor of enjoying the journey, in the interest of expediency, I think we should both try to get ourselves naked and get back here.”

“I like the way you plan,” Phil gave him cheeky grin and smoothly rolled off the bed and to his feet, “ _Hawkeye_.” 

Clint stuck his tongue out at the teasing, eyeing the flex of Phil’s back and ass as he hopped around, trying to get his socks off. 

“Now show me how well you implement those plans.” Phil put his hands on the waistband of his slacks and shot a smoldering glance over his shoulder.

Clint considered drawing it out, making a real show of stripping off his clothing. But Phil seemed to be happy enough with where they were that Clint didn't think he needed to add any extra seduction. So he simply pulled his feet up, one at a time, and loosened his boot laces enough to wiggle his feet free and toss the boots over the side of the bed. By the time he'd gotten his socks off, Phil was stripped to a pair of slinky knit boxer-briefs. Clint's mouth watered at the sight of Phil's mostly hard dick, clearly outlined by the tight fabric.

He wished his mouth would make up its mind already. Did he want Phil's cock or not? Did he think he could take it-- either down his throat or up his ass- or was he afraid to try?

Phil was giving him that look again, the look that said he thought Clint was thinking too much and Phil was worried what those thoughts might be. Clint grabbed the waistband of his jeans, already unfastened by Phil's skillful hands, and stripped them off in one quick movement. 

“Your toes match your underwear.” Phil's voice was a little too breathy to sound amused. “Purple really is your color.” 

Before Clint could move, Phil scooped one of his feet off the bed and lifted it to his lips. 

Clint'd never really seen the appeal of toe-sucking before. He'd done it for a couple of people who'd mentioned being into it, and he'd loved their reactions. But he'd never had it done before, and he'd never thought of himself as lacking in any areas of pleasure. 

Clearly, Clint has been very, very wrong. 

He flung his arms wide across the bed, fingers scrabbling for a grip on his purple satin sheets, moaning loud enough to make the faint chewing noises from Lucky stop for a moment. Phil did something wet and wriggling with his tongue, and Clint wondered if it was possible for a foot to have an orgasm. 

“Jesus, Phil!” Clint found enough air to speak when Phil shifted from sucking to pressing gentle kisses to the tip of each toe. “How does that feel so good? I mean, it's my _foot_!”

“I'd offer a science lesson on nerve endings and overlooked, touch-sensitive zones,” Phil said calmly, carefully setting Clint’s foot down and climbing over him onto the mattress, “but I seem to have a very attractive, very aroused man with me, and I'd much rather see what he's got in his shorts.”

“Was that a line?” Clint's hands settled almost naturally on Phil's bare waist, both pinkies sliding under the elastic band of his underwear. “Because it sounded like a line.”

“Maybe it was.” Phil smiled, tight and wicked. “Doesn't mean it's not true.”

He cupped Clint through the satiny fabric of his purple bikini briefs. 

“Would you mind if I sucked your cock?” Phil said it so carefully, like he was genuinely afraid Clint would say no to seeing Phil's sharp-edged lips wrapped around his dick. 

Clint tried to answer in words, but Phil's fingertips slid inside his leg hole and brushed his balls, and all Clint could do was arch into the touch and moan again. Devious Phil kept moving his fingers, letting his nails threaten to catch on the delicate skin, pressing firmly against the tendon at the crease of Clint’s thigh, caressing the skin at the base of Clint’s cock as if he knew Clint thought the nerves there never got enough attention. Clint kept writhing, sliding on the sheets, hips straining off the bed, stomach muscles quivering, hands clenching uselessly against his now-rumpled bedding.

“I thought...I thought you were going to– oh, God– suck me.” He could barely get enough air to speak, but he still felt he had to make the effort. He didn’t want Phil to think he was entirely running the show.

(Phil was _entirely_ running the show.)

“Oh, I will.” 

The promise was soft and dark, and enough to make Clint writhe against the sheets and nearly beg. His calluses caught on the smoothness of the satin, and the coolness of the sheets began to warm up with the heat of his blood rushing through his veins. He managed to pick his head up just in time for Phil to lean down and press his mouth against Clint’s dick, lips hot and welcome, even through a layer of fabric. Clint just whined and writhed again, shoulders and hips twisting as he tried to push his hips more firmly against Phil’s mouth. 

Phil paused long enough to shoot Clint a cocky grin, and then he bent back to his task, licking and sucking until the stretchy fabric of Clint’s underwear was soaked, catching and dragging and creating another layer of sensation with every movement of Clint’s eager body. Clint was certain he’d never been harder, and he watched, fascinated, as his cock strained up, the head of his dick drooling enough to make an ever-wetter patch on his underwear. Phil made eye contact and held it as he leaned forward to wrap his lips around the tip of Clint’s cock. He sucked, and Clint felt his balls draw up tight; he wanted to bat Phil away, let it all last a little longer. 

Just a moment before it was too late, Phil backed off, scooting down and settling himself on his stomach between Clint’s thighs, lifting one of Clint’s legs over his shoulder. 

“You taste so good, Clint.” Phil kissed the soft skin just below the leg of Clint’s underwear and then he worked a finger back into the leg hole, stretching it wide enough for his tongue to lap over Clint’s sac. “I would have finished you that way, but I really want to get it all over me. Next time, though–” he paused to again lick at Clint’s skin, tongue rough and soft at once– “next time I want to suck you off. Swallow you down. Get you all over my face, my neck, my tongue. I want to get covered with you.”

“God, Phil!” Clint reached down with one hand to slide his fingers through the softness of Phil’s dark hair. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s...that’d be...Oh, _God_!”

Working carefully, Phil eased Clint’s balls through the leg-hole of his briefs. The tightness of the elastic pulling against his dick, pushing into ever-more-sensitive skin almost hurt, but in a good kind of way– a tiny note of _other_ in the waves and waves of _good_ and _yes_ and _wet_ and _hot_. Phil nosed in against Clint’s balls, moving them out of his way with his nose, then his lips. He worked his way down until his lips were pressed under Clint’s balls, and then he pushed with his tongue, wiggling it wet and hot under the too-strained elastic, massaging Clint’s prostate from the outside. Clint arched off the bed, accidentally yanking at his handful of Phil’s hair.

“Ow, shit!” Phil pushed up onto his elbows laughing. “Okay, going to make sure your hands are secure and not in a position to pull out what hair I have left, next time I do that. I’m already starting to thin up there, Clint.”

“Sorry! Sorry!” Clint forced his fingers to let go and lay limply against the bed, panting. The satin of his sheets sticking to his sweat-drenched back. “Just...just hang on a sex– sec. Fuck! It was almost game over there.”

“Ohhhh.” Phil climbed slowly up Clint’s body. He kissed the corner of Clint’s mouth, just a sloppy little brush of his lips, and kept moving. “That would have been a real shame.” He kept crawling until he was straddling Clint’s chest. “I am not _nearly_ done listening to all the sounds I can drag out of you. I’m not ready to be done hearing you beg.”

Clint was absolutely _positive_ he’d never had sex like this before. He’d always loved taking his time, worshiping his partners’ bodies; he’d even been the recipient of that same careful attention on occasion. He’d never been so utterly wrecked by someone, however, and _certainly_ not before he’d even gotten completely naked. He felt like he was hovering in a space halfway between bliss and complete confusion, and he was enjoying every damn second of it. 

Phil pushed himself upright, and Clint’s brain frizzed a little at the sight of him, sex-flushed and rumpled, hair standing out in tufts from Clint’s own fingers, lips red and puffy. He’d pictured sex with Phil (kinda a lot over the past couple of weeks, to be honest), but he’d never pictured _this_ : Phil like some kind of wet dream, real and handsome, and looking completely at home mostly naked in Clint’s bed. Phil ran a hand down his own chest, fingers pausing on the waistband of his underwear where the head of his thick cock pulled the elastic away from his trim stomach. Clint reached up in fascination to curl his hand over Phil’s, his own fingers reaching in to feel around, trace the girth of Phil’s dick, feel the way he was soft over hard, as if it was too big to get fully hard with the limited blood flow of a simple human body. He wanted to see it, to taste it, to see if he could even get his lips around the head of it. Honestly, from what he could feel, he wondered if he could ever fit that monster in his body: ass or mouth.

“Your lips are gorgeous, Clint.” Phil reached down to smudge his thumb over Clint’s bottom lip. “Seriously, it was the first thing I noticed about you. I have a... I have a bit of a _thing_ for a good mouth.”

Clint knew his mouth wasn’t all _that_ exciting. When he was younger, maybe, or if he’d lived a different life, it might have been pretty. As things stood, though, it spoke, and it could smile, when Clint remembered that smiles were a thing he was supposed to do. It had a weird little scar just off-center on the top lip from a hit he’d taken as a kid. It had another scar, wider and uglier, a quarter of the way toward the center of his bottom lip from...something. Lord, Clint couldn’t remember the number of times he’d busted it open. It was probably some kind of miracle that it didn’t have _more_ scars. 

Still.

Just a mouth.

Phil flicked his thumbnail against the scar on Clint’s bottom lip.

“Your lips are perfect. Just...perfect.” He traced a fingertip around the overall shape of Clint’s mouth, and Clint’s lips, sensitive from the kissing and Phil’s evening shadow, tingled. “The little scars just accent how incredible these lips are. They make every word you say weigh more.” He shivered and scooted higher on Clint’s chest, knees pressing Clint’s biceps to the bed. “The number of times I’ve gotten myself off just thinking about the way your mouth moves when you speak…”

He trailed off, and dipped a hand inside his underwear, cupping his erection. Clint’s mouth started to water again, and he gave up on trying to figure out his body’s responses. All that mattered was that it responded to Phil, and Phil seemed to like it. 

“I want to feel your lips against me.” Phil licked his own lips, and Clint only saw it from his peripheral vision, completely focused on the tiny glimpse of intimate skin he could see around Phil’s wrist and underwear. “May I? May I feel them against my cock?”

Clint couldn’t have answered in words, his throat was half-closed with want and nerves combined. All he could do was nod, because, when Phil asked in that quiet, raw little voice, Clint felt like he would give him _anything_.

Phil swallowed audibly, and slowly began to pull the front of his his underwear down, stretching the waistband to release the fat head of his cock. He shuffled around sitting on Clint’s chest and carefully sliding his legs over Clint’s shoulders to kneel beside his face, thighs cradling Clint’s head. Clint’s hands came up like they had a mind of their own to spread across Phil’s lower back, fingers curling against him, stroking the smoothness of his skin. Phil’s ass was warm and firm, a cheek on each of Clint’s pecs, crack centered over Clint’s breastbone. Clint ran one hand down the stretchy knit of his boxer-briefs, fingers pressing in enough to trace the base of Phil’s spine to his tailbone, and Phil’s back bowed, pressing Clint’s fingers deeper. 

“You like that?” Clint asked, watching Phil’s face, trying to ignore the enormous erection waving in front of him. He wasn’t sure he was ready for it yet. Clint prodded with his finger until he felt the tight bump of Phil’s entrance, and Phil hissed and shook. “You, ahhh, maybe I could, um, ya know...If you’re into it, though. I mean, if you’re not, we can just–”

“I’d love it if you’d fuck me sometime.” Phil cupped himself with one hand and, without looking away from Clint’s eyes, reached back with the other to again curve his hand over Clint’s erection. His aim was flawless, and Clint went even hotter all over at the thought of what Phil must look like at the shooting range: calm, focused, and lethally perfect. “Not this time, because I’m not...that is…”

Phil Coulson was stuttering. And blushing. Clint felt his own nerves begin to drain away.

“I’ll be ready whenever you are,” he told Phil as gently as he could. “For right now, though, I think you had some ideas about my mouth.”

Phil gave him another smile, tight and grateful, and then he leaned slightly forward and pressed his dick down to Clint’s face. The length of it burned against Clint’s skin, hot and erotic from his chin to above his left eyebrow. It was fat, too, spongy in the way that the few really large dicks Clint’d experienced seemed to stay, no matter how turned on the man attached to them became. Clint closed his eyes and tipped his chin up, pressing a kiss to the shaft. Above him, Phil let out a tiny, broken little cry. 

Clint, feeling braver at that sure sign of Phil liking it, opened his lips and pressed the tip of his tongue to Phil, feeling the heat of him, the pulse of him, just tasting skin and the slightest tang of aroused sweat. Phil took a shuddery breath, and Clint ran his tongue up as far as he could reach, tracing a swirling kind of path. 

“Wanna...wanna taste...see if I can get it in my mouth.” Clint nuzzled in as best he could, rubbing his face against Phil’s cock, uncertain if he was trying to pet or be petted. “Please, Phil, give me...give me the tip. Put it...put it between my lips. Please.”

Phil grunted, like he couldn’t speak, and leaned forward, hands on the headboard as he shifted his hips a few inches down Clint’s chest. He settled his weight back onto Clint’s ribs and reached down to tilt his monster cock right at Clint’s mouth. Clint let his lids fall partway closed and watched Phil through his lashes as he opened his lips, and Phil carefully guided the purple head into Clint’s mouth. By the time the ridge at the base of his glans sealed against Clint’s lips, Clint was _certain_ he’d never be able to really suck it down the way he usually liked to give head. Since that wasn’t an option, he tried to make up for what he couldn’t offer in suction with the movement of his tongue. 

“Oh Christ!” Phil’s ass flexed against Clint’s chest as he rocked forward, nearly imperceptible little shifts that Clint would never have felt if Phil hadn’t been actually sitting on him. “Yeah, like that!”

Clint pressed his tongue, wide and flat, over the tip of Phil’s cock, sucking around what he had in his mouth. He pointed his tongue to press into the slit, and Phil gurgled and moved in a way that made his ass clench around the place where Clint’s fingers still pressed lightly into his crack. Clint curled his tongue around the head, teased it at the fold of Phil’s foreskin where it had rolled back, tried to sign his name (and he would _never_ admit to that out loud), and found himself starting to really enjoy the sounds, broken and helpless, that he dragged from Phil. 

He tightened his fingers into the meat of Phil’s ass, the twitching muscles of Phil’s back, clenching down as he sucked, trying to imply a rhythm that he couldn’t possibly manage with his mouth; he couldn’t possibly fit any more of Phil _into_ his mouth. The fantasy worked, and Phil’s back flexed under his hands to the same beat. He moaned and cried and out and shook, hands petting through Clint’s hair, smoothing over his forehead. 

When Phil’s thumb brushed across his eyelid, Clint realized that some of the dampness on his face was from his eyes. His eyes watered and sweat ran down Clint’s face. His mouth watered, making his chin and lips slick where he couldn’t keep the suction tight enough. And somehow– by some _magical_ means Clint was– he’d managed to suck another inch of Phil into his mouth, pressing his tongue down flat, pushing up against his soft palate. The tears running down his cheeks were from the way he kept forgetting to breathe around the weight of Phil on his tongue, the way it cut off his breath every time the seal of Clint’s lips pushed Phil’s dick into position to block all his air.

“Hang on, Clint.” Phil ran one hand soothingly down the side of Clint’s face. “Hold on, babe.”

The endearment made Clint suck once more, hard and determined.

“We gotta shift, or I’m gonna come.” Phil carefully leaned forward to again brace his hands against Clint headboard, pulling his cock free from Clint’s lips. “And, while I _love_ the thought of coming in your mouth, watching it run down your chin, seeing what it’s like to lick my own come out of the hollow of your throat–” Clint dropped his head back to the mattress, moaning both at the relief of relaxing his neck and at the image of Phil licking his own come off of Clint’s body– “I also _really_ want to spend a little more time making _you_ feel good before I get off.”

Clint stretched his arms as Phil climbed off his chest, and then he reached out to stroke his palm up Phil’s cock, just once. He hadn’t _really_ gotten to explore while he was sucking it before, given that his arms were trapped behind Phil’s body.

“I’m not done yet.” Clint hadn’t planned on saying it, since going along with whatever Phil wanted had been good so far. But...he’d kinda really gotten into sucking on that monster. “I’d like...is there any way I can keep going? I’d like...I’d really like to suck on you some more.”

Phil’s face lit up, and Clint wondered just what he’d gotten right to make Phil look at him like that. 

“You’re really amazing, Clint.” Phil leaned down to kiss Clint’s mouth, sucking on his bottom lip a second before pulling away. “Seriously. Gorgeous. Smart. Talented. Funny. Responsive in bed. _And_ your tongue is incredible. How’d I get so lucky?”

Clint felt his cheeks heat– a thing he’d have thought impossible, given how hot and shameless he felt. If Phil noticed, he didn’t say anything: just kissed him again and then turned, lying down on the bed with his crotch level with Clint’s mouth and his own head near Clint’s thigh.

“Strip and then roll up here, babe,” there was that endearment again, and it stole Clint’s breath as thoroughly as the first time. “Let me get my mouth back on you.”

Once they were both fully naked, Clint rolled onto his side facing Phil, and they both curved together, mouths finding ways to pleasure and taste, tease and relieve. Clint closed his eyes and lost himself in it, in the hot-wet-slide-salt of sucking and being sucked. He finally found the right way to hold Phil’s cock so he could get back to doing what he’d been doing before with his tongue while his hand made short, loose strokes up and down the bulk of the shaft that didn’t fit in his mouth. He was pretty sure he’d finally gotten the upper hand– so to speak– when Phil changed the gameplay.

He let Clint’s dick slide out from between his lips, nearly choked Clint with his own as he surged closer, and then he spread Clint’s legs further apart, holding one knee high in the air, and _licked over Clint’s hole._ Clint had no idea what kind of sound he’d have made, if he could have made one. His mouth was stuffed full of Phil, no air moving in or out. And then Phil licked again. Clint writhed, managing to get Phil out of his mouth before he accidentally bit down in pleasure. He couldn’t help the way his hips thrust into Phil’s face, pushing toward more of that slinky wet sensation on the one part of his body that hadn’t been touched during sex for...longer than Clint would _ever_ care to admit.

 “Is this okay?” Phil’s voice was breathy and rusty, and he nearly ruined the point of asking by carefully fitting the pad of one finger to Clint’s entrance. “Can I...May I finger you while...while I suck you? If you’re not into ass-play, it’s alright, I promise. But, um, rimming is my favorite thing, and you’re just so...it’s just so good with you.”

Clint wasn't sure exactly how Phil had equated rimming with fingering, but he was positive his ass was entirely on board with the idea of having something in it. He'd almost forgotten-- intentionally, probably-- how much he loved having something up there. The too-hot, too-tight feeling of getting fucked by a tongue or fingers or….

Well, Clint wasn't sure he wanted to think about _or_ just then, not with the evidence of the impossibility of getting _or_ to fit without damaging himself or Phil. 

Still…even Phil's strong hands and thick fingers weren't intimidating with that monster in his face. Clint shuffled restlessly, scooting around until he could press an apologetic kiss to the soft wrinkle of Phil's frenulum. Then he pushed up onto one elbow and leaned back to feel around under the edge of his mattress until his fingers bumped and caught the lube bottle he had stashed there after the last time he'd gone solo (that very morning; he'd never admit that to Phil). It was the expensive kind, smooth and slick and edible, and Clint was very glad he'd run out of cheap the week before. Since that first kiss with Phil, Clint and his left hand had been very busy, and he hadn't exactly thought ahead far enough to restock. 

“Here.” Clint stretched back down on the bed, smiling crookedly down at where Phil was watching him, wide-eyed and flushed. “It's safe for your tongue and, ah, and it'll let you get in there deeper.” 

“Perfect.” Phil clicked open the bottle, poured a dribble over his fingers, then shifted until he'd mostly climbed between Clint's thighs. Clint locked his knees around Phil's ribs, his hand as far around Phil's cock as he could, and held on for dear life while Phil got busy fucking him crazy. 

At some point, Clint had given up on trying to suck on Phil in return. Phil had twisted around until he was lying on his stomach, fully stretched on Clint’s bed, Clint’s knees pushed up to his chest. Clint wasn’t sure how many fingers Phil had up him by then, but it felt like his whole damned hand. _Especially_ when he wiggled his clever, soft tongue in beside them and then teased Clint nearly to orgasm, over and over again, by rubbing over his prostate a few times and then easing back to stretch his rim out to let his tongue get deeper. It was in-fucking-credible, and Clint found himself wondering what he’d have to do to actually get fucked. Every time he thought of asking Phil to get on with it, though, he remembered Phil saying “not this time” and then he’d think of the _size_ of what Phil was packing, and then he’d find himself safely back from the brink of orgasm again. 

Phil played his body like an instrument he’d long since mastered, and Clint wanted to cry with how good it felt. Wanted to sing about how good it felt. Thought that, if he could get his mind to focus just a little and get his limbs to quit jerking randomly about in pleasure, he’d be able to get up and do an interpretive dance dedicated to showing the world that Phil Coulson had the most talented tongue (and fingers, and– _Jesus fuck!_ – nose) in the history of sex. 

But, as good as it all felt, Clint still felt like something might be missing. _Would_ be missing, later, anyway. When things were ready to move on, move into more, and Clint wouldn’t be able to. He didn’t think he’d ever have the nerve to...to try to take that beast between Phil’s muscular thighs. Still, Clint _really_ wanted to get fucked, wanted a way to be… to be pounded deep and hard, just the way he most liked. There had to be… had to be _something_ for partners of guys with...with something like Phil’s dick.

(Clint wasn’t sure _anyone_ else could have a dick like Phil’s).

A toy, maybe. Clint hoped he’d remember his mental note to get onto Amazon and see what kind of things he could find to put up his own ass. And maybe next time he could talk Phil into using one of those on him: fuck Clint with a dildo; tease his prostate with a vibrator; shove a plug up him and suck him to hardness before Clint got a turn at fucking Phil. Toys. That would do it.

“You’re thinking too hard.’ Phil let Clint uncurl and propped his chin on Clint’s hip, cheek resting against Clint’s dick. His fingers, however, didn’t pause in their slow sliding in and out of Clint’s body. “You quit making noises. Should I be worried that my technique is slipping?”

“No! Oh _God_ no, Phil.” Clint reached down to brush his fingertips across Phil’s sweat-shining forehead. “That just feels so good, I was wondering how it’d...I mean I was kinda missing...I was just thinking how good it’d be if you could...I was just really enjoying myself.”

It wasn’t a lie. None of that was a lie. But it didn’t seem prudent to say _I was wondering how you could fuck me without actually using your cock_ to the man providing that level of pleasure to some of Clint’s most tender bits. 

Phil picked his head up and gave Clint a calculating look. He looked like he was looking for something, and Clint was afraid that Phil, with his too-wise ways and his ability to drag out words that Clint never meant to say, would figure out that Clint was scared of having sex with him. In an effort to distract, Clint reached down to slowly start jacking himself. 

“I think you should get up here and put a little of that slick between us.” Clint licked his lips, looked deep into Phil’s eyes and admitted a little truth. “I really want to see you get off, watch your face when you’re coming.”

Phil swallowed hard, and his face flushed even darker. 

“Do you mind if I keep my fingers where they are while we go?”

“Oh _hell_ no!” Clint pulled one leg back up to his chest, even as he reached for Phil’s shoulders with greedy hands. “That feels so fucking good, Phil. Been so damned long since I’ve had anything up there. Forgot how good it could be. Never knew anyone who could make it as good as you do.”

Phil pushed himself up quickly, fingers jolting against Clint’s inner walls as he draped himself on top of Clint’s body to kiss him. Phil’s lips tasted musky, and Clint realized that Phil was giving him a first: the taste of himself on someone else’s lips. He pulled Phil in, arms and legs wrapping him close to deepen the kiss, to chase the taste from Phil’s tongue.

“Here, babe.” Phil locked his knees, lifting up enough to get one hand between them with the lube bottle, and he ran a generous trail over Clint’s dick and hip and stomach. 

He wrapped his free hand around the back of Clint’s neck, and the pressure of his elbow on Clint’s collarbone made Clint feel pinned, protected. Phil thrust with his hips, dick gliding across Clint’s, slick and hot. Clint grabbed one handful of Phil’s ass and another handful of Phil’s dick, pushing it down against his own stomach. He somehow managed to get his wrist across his own dick, and then Phil started moving in earnest, and all Clint could do was hold on and grunt out his pleasure.

Phil’s thrusting fingers found his prostate again, rubbing over it relentlessly as he timed his hips and his hand together, and Clint started to shake. Phil ground his hips down harder, tightening the friction between their bodies, and Clint looped his fingers around the head of Phil’s dick, trying to give him a tight tunnel to fuck into.

“Shit, give it to me, Phil.” Clint could barely speak, words off-timed and breathless. “So good!”

He closed his eyes, and Phil’s hand tightened on the back of his neck.

“Come on, babe,” Phil growled. “Watch me, Clint. Watch my eyes. I want to see– oh fuck! I want to see the minute it’s too much. I want to watch you fall apart around my fingers. Come on, baby. Let me fuck you to the end.” Phil leaned down, but instead of kissing, he bit Clint’s bottom lip firmly. “God, you’re so fucking tight. Feels like I could get stuck in you. Just stay here and rub inside you, feel how hot you are forever. So fucking good around my fingers. Around my tongue. I love fucking you, babe. Can’t get enough of this, of you. Of being inside you.”

And, well, with encouragement like that, Clint didn’t have much choice. He raced right into orgasm, body clenching tightly around Phil’s fingers, dick spraying and pulsing between them, adding to the slick–mess–hot. Phil pushed in deeply with his fingers one last time, hammering Clint’s prostate in a way that made his eyes roll up in his head and his toes curl as his whole body spasmed with an extended end to his orgasm, and then Phil’s monster cock flexed against Clint’s stomach, growing harder for one instant before it began to blurt out hot streams that shot up Clint’s chest, hitting him in the chin. Phil’s hand twitched, probably unintentionally, and Clint arched at the pressure, his vision whiting out the rest of the way, and then everything went still for a long, long breath before Phil slowly collapsed on top of him.

“Fuck you’re good at that, baby,” Clint whispered into Phil’s hair, and Phil carefully eased his hand free and patted Clint’s ass gently. “Let’s do that again. After I find my toes, yeah?”

Phil started to laugh, weak and slightly hysterical, and Clint melted into the mattress, slick with lube, sticky with sweat, completely, blissfully relaxed. 

Eventually Clint went from “happily fucked" to “uncomfortably aware that his ass hadn't had so much attention recently," and he excused himself from his bed long enough to go to the bathroom. While he was there, he washed himself off with a washcloth, grinning at his reflection as he did so. He stopped a minute, genuinely unsure when the last time he'd smiled at himself had been. Maybe before Jess had stomped out of his personal life. Possibly before the last time he'd died. Maybe even the time before that. 

God, thinking of how long he'd been lacking in happiness was kind of depressing. And then he thought of Phil's wide shoulders and skillful tongue and brightened. Maybe life was finally getting better. Maybe Clint could have more nights with company that didn't drool on his knee and better conversation than arguing with the commercials on television. 

Clint got another rag wet, flipped a towel over his shoulder, and detoured to the fridge to grab a couple bottles of Stark Industries special electrolyte drink. He hoped Phil liked grape.

Phil rumbled grumpily when Clint pushed him onto his back and straddled his thighs to clean the tacky mess out of his chest hair. 

“Hey, I don't mind sticking with you, babe,” Clint said, concentrating on soaking dried bits from Phil's happy trail, “but I don't know that being stuck _to_ you is my idea of a good time. Come on, sit up. You need to rehydrate before you crash, or you're going to regret it in the morning.”

“Clint,” Phil answered seriously, sitting up and taking the bottle he was offered, “I can honestly say I'll never have regrets about tonight.”

Clint tried to answer, but his throat closed up on him, and he just tilted forward to give Phil a sloppy, happy kiss.

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it took forever. But work went crazy, and then the weather went crazy, and this this beast went from 10k words to nearly 14k in beta/edits. Everyone give all your love to Laura Kaye for her hard work and dedication, forcing herself to read the porny bits over and over in an attempt to make them work. It's a tough job, but she's brave enough to do it.


	3. Beeperus Interruptus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fair enough. I promise not to hurt you with my dick.” He shot Clint another crooked grin. “Look. If you want it, it’s yours. Maybe you just need to get to know it better.”

Summary: “So who is this magical new creature whose dick sang your siren song?”

“Agent Phillip Coulson.” Clint grinned at her, feeling as self-satisfied as the cat who ate a whole flock of canaries. “And it was less his dick-song than the way he says ‘boomerang arrows’.”

*****

 

Clint woke up on Sunday morning warm and languid, so relaxed that his arms could barely move.

Wait, scratch that.

He woke up warm and languid, arms pinned on one side by a belly-up, one-eyed dog who snored like a drunk in a ditch and on the other by a warm, naked, _gorgeous_ man...who was _also_ snoring like a drunk in a ditch. 

“One of you has _got_ to move.” Clint wriggled as best he could, trying to get his arms free without waking either of his bedmates. His bladder complained louder, and his stomach rumbled from his lack of bedtime snack, and his limbs started to tingle with that trapped-panic feeling; his careful shifting turned to sharper elbow-throwing. Lucky and Phil woke at about the same time.

“Sorry, sorry.” Phil rolled off of Clint, underestimated how much room Clint’s dog required for sleeping on the bed, and vanished over the edge of the world, taking most of the covers with him. 

Clint blinked at the place where Phil had been.

“Ouch.”

Lucky wiggled and rolled and scrambled up, barking and wagging, managing to step on all of Clint’s tender bits and generally getting in the way while Clint tried to roll over to help Phil get back up. 

“Aww, dog, no!” Clint shoved him off as carefully as he could; he didn’t want to frighten Lucky, but he also didn’t think his balls and bladder could take much more. “Aww, Phil. You okay?”

Phil sat on the floor, legs tangled in the blanket, gorgeous chest blanketed by sunlight, freckles showing all over his face and shoulders. Clint folded his arms on the edge of the bed and propped his chin on his wrist.

“Well. _This_ has certainly been a morning after for the memory book.” Phil looked up at Clint and smiled, small and wry. “I’d been planning on smoothly asking to take you to breakfast, and then trying to weasel my way into your daily plans so I could spend a day with you and Luck.”

Lucky barked again when he heard his name, and promptly fell off the bed in excitement as he tried to lick Phil’s ear. Phil laughed and petted him, turning to pull him into a hug, blanket tangling around them both in waves of purple. Clint looked at them together on the floor, both of them happy and loose and easy, and he felt the desire to beg Phil to stay forever welling up in his chest. He wondered just how long they needed to date before the question would no longer be weird.

“I’m all in favor of breakfast.” Clint shooed Lucky away and sat up. He leaned forward and caught Phil’s hand. “I mean, feed me and I’m yours, basically.”

Phil hummed thoughtfully, and then his eyes crinkled with amusement. “So it really _was_ the scones that got through to you, then?”

Clint laughed and braced himself to heave Phil over the edge of the bed. Phil brought the comforter back with him, and Clint helped him shake it out to cover both of them. He pinned Phil down and kissed him, gently, trying to avoid the dangers of morning breath. Phil smiled, clearly trying to hold his breath also, and they broke apart quickly, giggling like teenagers. Clint snuggled down on top of him, pillowing his head on Phil’s broad, warm, furry chest. 

“That or the way you said ‘boomerang arrow.’” Clint patted Phil’s tummy when it growled out a complaint to match the way Clint’s was feeling. “As for my plans today, how are you at plumbing?”

“Terrible.” Phil stroked his fingers through Clint’s hair and down his neck, pausing to dig his thumb into a knot in Clint’s muscles. Clint nearly moaned at how _good_ it felt. “But I can hand over tools like no one’s business, and if you ever need a nail pounded or some electrical hooked up, I’m your guy.”

“I’ll check over the list from the residents and see where we can best use your talents.” Clint kissed the nearest patch of Phil’s skin and rolled away to stand and stretch. “Now Imma hit the head and brush my teeth. I’m sure there’s a spare toothbrush around here somewhere, and then we can get dressed and you can take me to my favorite diner just around the corner.”

“How’s the coffee?” Phil asked, shuffling deeper into the covers as Clint began his descent down the stairs.

“Terrible, but the pancakes will make you cream your shorts.”

Phil’s laughter set Lucky off again, and the duet of both of them sounding happy and alive followed Clint all the way to the bathroom. 

*****

Their day of basic maintenance around the building proved Phil to be a dirty liar; he was so far above Clint in his plumbing skills that Clint finally asked him outright if he'd, like, done a course on it or something. Phil had just laughed, then gone soft and smiling around the edges and talked about growing up on a couple teachers’ salaries. 

“And after D-dad died,” his voice only wavered a little bit, but Clint squeezed his shoulder anyway, “it got even tighter. So the library and the local Habitat for Humanity renovation station became my best friends. And the junkyard. I swear they bought parts for my car and sold them to me at a loss, just because I was there all the time.” 

He tightened the last joint on Mrs. Karpatski's kitchen drain and leaned back to grin at Clint. He’d borrowed a pair of sweatpants and a too-tight t-shirt from Clint that morning, and those, combined with the smudge of grease on his forehead, changed him entirely from his work persona. He looked younger, softer, less polished. He looked… he looked like he belonged there: in those clothes; in that building; in Clint’s life. Clint started to have Thoughts about tumbling him back into bed and making him scream a little. 

“When I'm back from Belarus in a couple weeks, I'll take you out to meet Lola.” He dropped the pipe wrench back in Clint's tool box and rolled to his feet, stretching his arms high over his head. Clint's mouth ran a little dry at the glimpse of happy trail and abs the movement gave. “That's the car I was working on then. She's had a few upgrades since I joined SHIELD. We can go for a drive.”

“You’re leaving again?” Smooth, Barton. “I mean, the ride sounds great, but waiting will suck.”

Clint wanted to slap himself. Barely start a relationship, have sex once, and he was already getting clingy. 

“I know.” Phil picked up the toolbox with one hand and then held the other hand down to Clint to heave him off the floor. “For me, too. I’ll try to wrap it up quickly. Get home sooner.”

“Don’t get careless.” Clint used his grip on Phil’s wrist to reel him in closer. “It’ll take as long as it takes. I can be patient, but only if I know you’re being careful.”

Phil gave him another of those bright, genuine smiles, and Clint leaned in to taste it.

“Why don’t you and your young man stay for dinner, Mr. Barton.” Mrs Karpatski leaned in the doorway of her kitchen, a playful gleam in her faded brown eyes.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Phil answered, pulling out of Clint’s grip and turning to her, face flaming but his expression bland. The combination of Agent Coulson control and Clint’s Boyfriend Phil passion was hella hot, and Clint decided the bed was too far away. They could go at it on the floor when they got back to the apartment. “I have to leave for a meeting shortly. My boss doesn’t seem to understand that some of us would appreciate a real weekend.”

_Aww, SHIELD, no._

“I need to go wash my hands and tell Lucky goodbye.” Phil gave Clint a direct look, but Clint couldn’t figure out what was so important about the dog. 

They both accepted Mrs. Karpatski’s thanks and a cookie each to go with them, and then walked back up the steps to Clint’s apartment in near-silence.

“You’ve really gotta head out?” Clint hated how whiny he sounded when he asked, but Phil just looked over at him with a crooked little smile. He stuffed the corner of his cookie into his mouth, chewing to keep himself from saying anything more embarrassing. 

“I have a little over an hour.” Phil’s little smile grew to a wicked grin. “That’s got to be enough time for one more orgasm each, right?”

Clint absolutely _did not_ whoop with glee. It was just a very loud noise of surprise. His arms only raised over his head because he needed to stretch.

Interestingly, one hour was enough time for Phil to make good on his earlier idea of sucking Clint off, letting it make a mess of his face and hair. It was also enough time for Clint to shove Phil against the wall in the shower and work him to orgasm with his hand while biting and sucking possessive little marks all along Phil’s shoulder and chest. And, after all of that, they still had a few minutes to drape themselves lazily along the couch, Lucky flopped on top of them.

“If I get a chance, I’ll call you.” Phil kissed Clint’s eyelid and cheekbone. “If I don’t get a chance, know that I’ll be thinking of you. Of this.”

“I’ll be here when you get back.” Clint kissed Phil’s bottom lip. “I hope. I mean, unless something comes up. Um, if something comes up, how do I let you know?”

“You could always leave me a message on my inbox at work. Or my home number.” Phil kissed him again, mouth gentle and warm. “Or just slide a note under my office door. Or trust me to look up your status when I get back. I’m a nosy bastard like that.”

Clint laughed and shoved Lucky to the other end of the couch to get a few minutes of kissing that didn’t smell like dog.

*****

“So things are heating back up with you and Jess then?” Natasha zapped some goon in green with just one Bite, and the guy dropped like a rock. Must’ve upped the juice at some point. Clint really needed to go over the specs on those with Tony. Maybe rig up an arrow to match or something. 

“What?” Clint almost missed the red-suited asshat who launched himself out of a corner. “Hell, no! That’d be...not a good thing.”

“I’m glad you realize that.” Natasha tossed Clint a chunk of concrete to hit the guy in purple coming up behind him.

“Where did they get the matching suits in rainbow colors?” Even Clint, who usually would never criticize a person who chose purple, felt offended. Maybe Phil was just rubbing off on him.

_Oh, Phil had rubbed off on him, alright. Heh._

“Henchmen’s Warehouse.” Natasha slammed a guy in yellow against a wall. She was so awesome; Clint was really grateful she was mostly on his side. “So then who's the new lady?”

“Lady?” Clint fired a bola arrow at the last guy, dressed all in bright blue, catching him just before he reached the door. “There's no lady.”

“So psych finally got you to take the antidepressants then?” Nat caught Clint's arm and studied his face. “Because you seem a lot less...how you were.”

“I’m feeling a lot less...how I was.” Clint could feel himself smiling, and he tried to rein it in. “Things are going better, I guess. I think I have a better handle on the building and all that. Lucky’s all healed up, and Kate seems to have settled in more comfortably. I _think_ I’ve even mostly managed to forgive Barney for being, er, Barney.” 

Clint could feel himself puff up just a little bit before adding one more thing going right in his life.

“And I’ve got a boyfriend.” He sounded smug, he was sure. Ah well. He was going to be banging SHIELD’s most eligible bachelor on the regular; he was allowed to be smug.

“Oh.” Natasha let go of Clint’s arm, but she didn’t step away. “I thought you were done swinging that way after– what was his name? Mike? Mark?”

“Simon.” Clint cringed. Trust Nat to poke right into the tender bits. “It wasn’t so much done as just... not looking.”

“So who is this magical new creature whose dick sang your siren song?”

“SHIELD Agent Phillip Coulson.” Clint grinned at her, feeling as self-satisfied as the cat who ate a whole flock of canaries. “And it was less his dick-song than the way he says ‘boomerang arrows’.”

“Oh, Clint.” Nat caught his arm again. “I’ve heard that he doesn’t really _do_ relationships. Can’t you _just once_ pick someone emotionally available?”

She’d said the same words to him a dozen times over the years, the first time after she herself had broken up with him. And betrayed him. But that was another story.

“He _is_ , though, Nat,” Clint could feel himself bristle. “He told me so. That he wants this to be a...a _thing_. Like a just us thing. Monogamous or whatever. Like a relationship thing.”

“Oh!” Natasha peeled off one glove, licked the pad of her thumb and reached up to swipe at a smudge on Clint’s cheek. He pushed her hand off and glared. “So you’ve had a relationship talk already. Well. Then he’s at least one up on anyone you’ve been involved with in the past...oh, five years or so.”

“Hey, it hasn’t been that long since Bobbi!” Clint pulled a handful of zipties out of his pocket and began trussing up their rainbow of downed baddies. “She and I talked relationship!”

“Unexpected proposals are not the same thing, Clint.” Natasha started at the far end of the color spectrum to help secure the team of henchmen. “Still. Good luck. I like Coulson. He bakes a mean scone.”

Clint fumbled the last guy’s wrist, shocked that Natasha Romanov, _The_ Black Widow, of all people, would praise anyone so effusively (well, for her). And a person Clint was dating, no less. Seemed like his luck really had begun to change. He set about collecting his arrows, whistling tunelessly as he did. 

*****

“I swear,” Phil seemed to settle deeper into the seat of his little cherry-red Vette when they hit an open stretch of highway. He reached over to take Clint’s hand, fingers brushing Clint’s thigh as he did. “I _swear_ all I thought about on the flight home was your ass. I’d been so good up until then. Thought about all the things I wanted to say to you, things I wished I could show you in Belarus. Thought of Lucky and lying on the couch to watch _Dog Cops_ and that show with the awful bridal gowns. But I got on that plane, and all I could think about was how incredibly badly I wanted to get you naked, kiss you senseless, and get another taste of your ass.”

Clint thought his face might catch fire, and he hoped he could blame the flush he was damned sure had risen in his cheeks on the red and purple of the setting sun. The way Phil squeezed his fingers suggested that Phil saw right through him and liked what he was seeing.

“Four weeks without your hands on my body is way too damn long.” Phil glanced over with a crooked little grin. “If I hadn’t promised you a ride in Lola, I’d have probably had to fuck you in my office.”

“Glurp!” 

With Phil holding the wheel of his classic little red ‘Vette, smiling easy and bright, hand warm over Clint’s, Clint found himself torn between arousal and terror. Because it was one thing to hear that Phil wanted him– badly, apparently– and another to think of Phil trying to wedge that...that...that _anaconda_ in his shorts up Clint at the office. 

No matter how bland SHIELD agents were trained to be, he was pretty certain his squeals while he tried to fit that up _there_ would alarm a few of them, at the very least. _No one_ wanted a fully armed security team bursting in while they were taking up it the ass. Or, well, perishing in the attempt. Clint figured it wouldn’t be the _worst_ way to go; at least he’d die happy.

“And you’re back to thinking too hard.” Phil squeezed Clint’s hand. “What’s wrong, Clint?”

“Okay, so…” Clint took a deep breath and told himself to calm down. It was _Phil_. Phil, who’d been brave enough to tell Clint that he was nervous about getting into a relationship. Phil, who’d been so honest and upfront with Clint about what he wanted and what he hoped for between them that Clint wasn’t left guessing or hoping that he’d manage to figure it out before he screwed everything up. “So you should know, first off, that I love bottoming. Seriously. Love it. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

Phil laughed and grinned over at him, bright and hungry. “I might have noticed that you seem to like the ass-play.”

“Thought so.” Clint smirked at him and then cleared his throat and looked away. “But I’ve never...I mean, I’ve been with a few guys that are...but no one’s been...I…” He sucked in a deep breath and finished the sentence in a rush, trying hard to get it out before he chickened out entirely. “I find your dick kinda intimidating.”

He held his breath, hoping Phil’s next words wouldn’t be him breaking up with Clint. The silence went on so long Clint had to start breathing again. But still Phil didn’t answer. Clint finally had to risk looking over at him. Phil frowned slightly, squinting through the windshield at nothing in particular. Then he nodded, a firm decisive jerk of his chin. 

“Fair enough. I promise not to hurt you with my dick.” He shot Clint another crooked grin. “Look. If you want it, it’s yours. Maybe you just need to get to know it better.” 

Clint liked the sound of that. 

“Maybe you’ll settle into the idea. Then again, maybe you’ll never want to take it.” Phil squeezed his fingers and glanced over with a warm smile. “It’s okay. Sex doesn’t have to include a dick in an ass to be actual sex. And, if you want penetration to happen, and you’re more comfortable topping when we do, that’s okay, too. If you’d like to get a toy that’s less, um,” there was a long pause, and Clint thought Phil’s ears might have turned pink; they looked a bit darker in the flash of headlights, anyway. “Something less _large_ , then that’s what we’ll do, and I’ll fuck you with it like there’s no tomorrow. There’s no a right or wrong way to have sex, so long as everyone’s having a good time.”

Okay, that was...that was a really good answer. Clint felt himself relax a bit.

“Okay.” He nodded to himself, and glanced over to see Phil smiling to himself, dreamy and quiet. “And now you’re thinking of something. Care to share?”

“It’s nothing much.” Phil licked his lips and slanted his eyes to the side, giving Clint a quick once-over. “Just thinking how incredible it’d be to get you inside me.”

Clint whimpered a little, the sound whipped away by the evening air blowing through the topless convertible, but Phil laughed, bright and loud, like he’d heard it anyway. 

*****

“I guess I should confess that I’m actually a little, er, nervous.” Phil rustled against the sheets on his bed, and Clint leaned over him to stroke the twitching muscles of his flat stomach. “I mean, it’s been… _whew_ , at least a year since I’ve really had something up my ass. I mean, I’ve been fingering myself when I’ve had the chance. Since we started dating, I mean. Just in case we, er, this was…” He sucked in a hard breath. “But sharing a room on the last mission meant that there wasn’t, you know, a lot of time for fantasies.”

Clint felt his own dick bob in response to the idea of Phil standing in a crappy little hotel shower halfway around the world, a couple fingers up his ass, biting his lip to keep from moaning Clint’s name. He licked his lips and then drew a bead on a new target.

Dipping down enough to let his lips brush Phil’s earlobe, he whispered “Show me.”

“God, yes!” Phil arched up, fingers clenching against Clint’s ribs. “I can do that. If you’re sure?”

“If I’m sure?” Clint sat back on his heels and picked up the bottle of lube Phil had tossed him when they’d first gotten naked. “What’s not to be sure about? I get to watch you touch yourself, learn how you like it, and then I can suck you off just to hear you scream my name.”

“Keep talking like that,” Phil rain a trail of slick over the middle and ring fingers on his right hand, “and it won’t take any sucking to make me scream.”

“I think I can work with that.” Clint stroked Phil’s thigh, helping him hold it to the side, twisting him up like a pretzel while Phil reached down to his own entrance.

Clint couldn’t take his eyes off of Phil’s face at first, watching him bite his lip, eyes closed. He was so hella hot like that, spine flexed too far, teasing at his ass with shining fingers, the soft curve of his bottom lip bitten white by his strong teeth. Clint forgot to watch Phil’s face when Phil’s teeth released his lip and he gasped; instead, Clint’s eyes snapped to Phil’s ass, to the place where his finger pushed inside himself, slow and firm. He wondered how long he could make himself watch before he caved and had to join in on the fun.

His limit turned out to be watching Phil carefully slide in his second finger, moaning low and broken as he did. The way his eyes fell shut and the tiny pucker between his eyebrows broke Clint’s control entirely, and he leaned down swiftly to press his lips to the creases of tension that had showed up at the corner of Phil’s eye. 

“Do you know how hot you are like this, baby?” He unfolded Phil onto his back, one arm looping around his waist to hold his hips off the bed. “Seriously, I wish you could see this. _God_ , Phil…” Clint’s voice cracked, and he pressed his forehead against Phil’s collarbone. “Can’t believe someone like you wants...well, me.”

Phil’s eyes snapped open, and his free hand cupped the side of Clint’s face. His sharp gaze was hazier than usual, but Clint still felt like Phil was peeling off his skin and looking deep inside him.

“Anyone would be lucky to be here, Clint.” Phil pulled him down for a kiss, breaking away to pant as his wrist twisted and something seemed to feel extra-good to him. “Gimme your fingers, babe. Please, I want– oh fuck, yeah– want you to touch me.”

Clint draped himself across Phil’s body, hand sliding down to replace Phil’s fingers with two of his own. 

Later– rather a lot later– he’d be a little disappointed that he never did manage to get his mouth on Phil’s dick. At the time, though, all he cared about was how good it felt to have Phil writhing under him, his short, smooth nails scraping at Clint’s back as he cried out and panted. He shifted over until he could slide between Phil’s thighs, and Phil’s eyes blazed.

“Yeah, like that.” Phil bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes. 

Clint held himself above Phil’s chest so he could watch the way they rubbed together, dick to dick. He pushed Phil’s knee to his chest so he could keep his hand right where it was and still get as close as possible, feel as much of Phil under him as he could. Everything, every slide was tacky-slick from the way Phil kept leaking as Clint teased at and rubbed over his prostate, thick, cloudy drops rolling down the shaft and pooling on his belly, dampening the head of Clint’s cock as they ground together. Clint folded himself a little more, trying to get his fingers deep in Phil’s hot, tight body.

“Oh, Jesus, Clint!” Phil arched up, free leg locking tightly around Clint’s waist. “There! Right there! You’re _right there!_ Fuck, don’t stop, baby. Please, give me–” He cut off with a sharp growling groan, and Clint watched his face tighten one last time before it relaxed out into bliss. 

After that, all he could do was slick his hand up with the streaks of come from Phil’s stomach and jerk himself off until he added to the mess. Phil caught his collapse with strong-but-shaky arms, and they curled together in a sprawl of sweat and sheets and nearly-useless limbs. He’d almost fallen asleep when Phil broke the spell by speaking, voice ragged, but tone as calm and bland as if he was suggesting a place for supper.

“So there’s a sex shop around the corner from here.” He kissed Clint’s temple. “Tomorrow we should go pick out a few things to play with. Maybe get a little something to help me get ready to take your not-so-little something.”

“Hmm.” Clint did his best to agree, but he couldn’t make many noises that didn’t just sound contented and sex-drunk. He forced his mouth to work, words slurred but hopefully intelligible. “‘N me, too, ‘cause your dick is huge.”

Phil laughed softly under him, and that was the last thing Clint knew before midnight.

*****

Clint woke up hazily, uncertain of where he was. It was dark, and he was surrounded by warmth and limbs. Hairy limbs, so he hadn’t gotten drunk and gone to bed with a woman (and he was man enough to admit to himself that he’d made _that_ decision a time or two. He was also willing to admit that it was how he’d started a few too many relationships). He hugged the warm body draped halfway across his chest a little closer and sniffed. Bergamot. Chocolate. Tiny trace of clean-smelling aftershave. Sex.

_Phil_.

“Hey, babe.” Phil’s voice was sleep-rough and lazy, and Clint thought it was kinda awesome. “What time ‘zit?”

Clint looked around and saw Phil’s phone propped on a charger next to the bed. The time danced across the screen in dim little lights.

“Quarter to one.” Clint scooted further under the covers, Phil unfolding to make space for them to tuck more tightly together. “You got anywhere to be in the morning?”

“Meeting at noon. So long as I get about two more hours, I’m good.” Phil rolled, pinning Clint to the mattress, chest to chest. He pushed himself up, straddling Clint’s hips. “You have something in mind?” 

He rocked his plush ass down against Clint’s dick, and Clint went from _vaguely interested chub_ to _fully rock-hard_ in about a blink. His body hadn’t been so consistently and constantly ready since his teenage years. And back then, he hadn’t been able to last so long or make it all feel so good.

“I can think of a few things we could get up to.”

Phil rumbled happily and began digging around in the covers, clearly looking for something. He made a grumble of annoyance, clearly not finding what he’d been searching for.

“Watch your eyes. I think I need some light.”

Clint squinted as the bedside lamp flashed into life, but he adjusted quickly to the brightness. Phil had leaned over to the nightstand, leaving one long leg draped across Clint’s stomach. Clint gently felt around the delicate bones of Phil’s ankle and then traced up the defined lines of his calf muscle. By the time he was running his fingertips along the inside of Phil’s thigh, Phil was quivering, making tiny breathy noises. 

“If you keep exploring like that, I’m not going to be able to find the lube.” Phil’s usual dry delivery was ruined by the aroused tremble in his voice. “And I’d really like to get the lube out so we can put it to good use.”

“Don’t let me stop you.” Clint moved his hand quickly up the last few inches to press into Phil’s crack. “I’m just trying to offer a little, erm, encouragement to hurry.”

Phil bit his lip, set his jaw, and yanked open the nightstand drawer, pulling out a new bottle of lube. Clint grinned up at him, stroking from Phil’s balls all the way up to his lower back and down again while Phil struggled to pry the security seal off of the bottle. He pressed across Phil’s entrance with one finger when Phil managed to get one edge pried up a bit, and Phil squeaked and spilled a drop onto Clint’s stomach.

“You’re kinda an asshole,” Phil said, scowling at him and trying (unsuccessfully) to hide the twinkle in his eyes.

“Mmm,” Clint answered, prodding his finger a little bit harder.

“Let’s try it like this.” He settled lower onto Clint’s hips and reached back with a slick-covered hand to stroke Clint’s dick. “Get you nice and lubed, and then see about you using this–” he squeezed Clint’s cock gently– “instead of your hand, yeah?”

Clint made a noise he was pretty certain had never come out of his mouth before as Phil shifted back to press Clint’s dick between his cheeks, holding it in place as he writhed his hips in a rhythmless few presses. The lube spread out, making every movement slicker and smoother, and Clint’s back arched at the bliss of it.

“Give me your hand, Clint.” 

_Oh hell_. That was Phil’s Agent-in-Charge voice, and Clint would be forever screwed if Phil was ever calling the shots on a mission. Well, maybe he’d get screwed after the mission, so it’d all be okay. Heh.

Clint held out his hand for Phil to pour a healthy pool of lube into his palm, but he held his hand over Phil’s cock teasingly, one fingertip barely brushing the head.

“Touch me.” Phil licked his lips and almost-smiled, and _God_ he was hot. “Come on, babe. Touch me for real.”

Clint wanted to make Phil beg, but he couldn’t make himself wait that long. He cupped his hand around Phil’s cock, noting that it wasn’t fully hard. When Phil got going, Clint’s fingertip couldn’t _quite_ reach his thumb. Phil moaned, closing his eyes for just a moment. When he opened them, they were dark with arousal, pupils spreading out far enough to make the brown flecks vanish. A flush spread quickly from Phil’s hairline to his chest, and he shifted his hips, ass clenching against Clint’s dick; it was _awesome_. Phil leaned back, knees pressing tightly into Clint’s ribs, spine arching in a way that pushed his chest out and his ass back, and he kept one hand behind himself, holding Clint’s cock tightly up his crack.

“Oh fuck, you’re hitting everything!” Phil rocked his hips, and his cock continued to plump in Clint’s grip; Clint tried to keep his fingers closed, but he was quickly finding himself with more than a handful. “God, you fuck me so good, Clint. Babe. You’re so good. So _damned good!_ ”

“Only because it’s you, Phil.” Clint pinched Phil’s hip with his free hand, trying to find something to hold onto to keep himself from losing it too soon. He wanted to watch Phil fall apart before he came. Phil having an orgasm was the hottest thing Clint’d ever seen, and he didn’t want to miss it. “Just for you, baby. Everything’s just for you now.”

_Aww, feelings, no._

He _hoped_ it wasn’t too soon to start saying shit like that. Clint’d known his brand of clingy turned a lot of people off. It didn’t seem to be turning Phil off, though, since Phil just moaned again, louder, and started to flex his abs and back in a tighter, sharper, steadier rhythm. Clint clenched his fingers in a rippling wave as Phil fucked into his hand, and Phil’s eyes snapped shut. 

“Jesus, your hand! Fuck, you’re perfect!” 

That was...that was too much, really. Clint couldn’t be expected to keep any control when someone– when _Phil_ said shit like that to him. He felt his mouth open in a silent scream as his orgasm punched him in the gut, the balls, and the heart all at the same time. Phil moaned again when Clint started to shoot between his cheeks, and then his cock went _actually_ rock hard in Clint’s hand and started to spray up Clint’s stomach. They shivered together, both of them quivering through the last electric pulses of orgasm. Clint closed his eyes, relaxing back onto the bed. It took him longer than it should have to realize that not all the vibrations he felt came from his or Phil’s muscles twitching as the came back down from, er, the heights of coming. 

_Heh_. (Clint got a little silly after great sex. Sue him.)

Clint’s pager buzzed away under the pillow, where Clint had shoved it before he’d crawled into Phil’s bed. His _goddamned, inconvenient, stupid_ Avengers pager. Fucking Captain America and fucking Iron Man and fucking _everybody_.

Clint went soft so fast that his dick actually plopped out of Phil’s crack and onto his own leg.

“Goddamnit.” The rest of his body went limp, as did Phil, and Clint caught Phil in his arms and pulled him close as he collapsed on top of Clint’s chest. 

“I guess you’re needed, Hawkeye.” Phil kissed his mouth, movements slow and blurry with after-sex relaxation. “By someone other than my cock.”

Clint started laughing, he couldn’t help it. Apparently in addition to being a fantastic baker and an amazing lay, his boyfriend was the goofiest motherfucker on the planet. Clearly a perfect match for Clint.

It was some kind of awesome.

“Stay safe, babe.” Phil kissed him softly and rolled to the side. “And you might wanna wash up a little before you go. I’ll be watching the SHIELD feeds.”

*****

“Seriously, Katie-Kate.” Clint had flung himself across his couch, still covered in sweat and smoke from a fourteen hour fight. “He’s absolutely _perfect_.”

“Well, he’s got good taste in superheroes, at least.” Kate futzed around in the kitchen, and Clint couldn’t tell if she was making coffee or cleaning. Either one was fine by him. “I mean, anyone who wants a Hawkeye has _some_ good taste. Although– and I’ll admit I’m biased– he didn’t pick the best Hawkeye.”

“Hardy har har.” Clint scritched Lucky’s ear and tried to breathe evenly with fifty pounds of lazy mutt on top of his ribs. “Like, we’re still basically fucking–” Kate made a disgusted face, and he ignored her– “and the pager goes off, and he’s all just like ‘stay safe’ and calling me baby and shit.”

Kate hummed thoughtfully and then started drying a pair of coffee mugs. Cleaning _and_ making coffee. God, Clint loved that girl.

“I mean, I’m all ready to head out, and he’s just lying there smiling at me with my, errr…” Clint backtracked that statement just in time and mentally patted himself on the back. “Like he hasn’t even gotten, ya know, cleaned up yet. And then he kisses me goodbye and follows me to the door naked. It was hella hot.”

“I think you have your priorities a little screwed up.” Kate came out of the kitchen to hand Clint one of the mugs. “But you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t. And I’m glad he didn’t get huffy about you having to go work. I imagine he’ll have the same thing happen sometime, though, so it’s only fair.”

Clint sat up and shrugged. “I’ve dated enough superheroes to know that’s not always the case. Phil’s...different, though. He’s more, um...he’s less…”

“He’s really into _you_ , Clint.” Kate plopped down on the coffee table, knocking off an empty take-out carton. “That’s a step up from most of the women that you’ve dated recently.”

“He’s a big step up from _anyone_ I’ve dated. Ever.” Clint tried to shut himself with a deep gulp of too-hot coffee before he said too much, but it was too late. He’d already said enough to show his hand to Kate. And Kate, well, she was a Hawkeye; she could see what Clint meant even without him spelling it out.

“You’re really serious about this one.” 

“Yeah, I kinda think I am.” Clint shrugged again, trying to play it off. “Or I might get that way, anyway. It’s still pretty early days.”

“Seriously, if you ever learn to take time to fall in love, I’ll eat my bow.” Kate shook her head, her dark ponytail bouncing around like Lucky’s happy-tail. “You’ve got it bad, and, as long as he treats you like you deserve, I’m totally okay with that.” She went entirely still, gaze sharp, and Clint was reminded of her drawing a bead on a target. “If he ever forgets what he has, though, _I’m_ going to have words for him.”

“Kate…”

“No, Clint. You’re a Hawkeye. We protect our own.” She hopped to her feet and set her mug down on the table to begin picking up empty food cartons and a few spare bottles. “And I’ll shoot him in the eye if he ever hurts you. Just, ya know. On principle.”

Clint tried to lean forward to make a swipe for one of the boxes in her hand, but she held it above her head and glared at him. He just shrugged. He didn’t _mind_ the place getting cleaned, but he knew Kate would hold it over him the next time she wanted a favor.

“Come on, Katie-Kate.” Clint dropped his head to the back of the couch and flopped his arm over his eyes. “Don’t threaten my boyfriend.”

Kate snorted at him, and he lifted his arm away enough to see her smiling at him, crooked and warm. He still had no idea what he’d done to deserve her in his life, but was grateful she was there. He smiled back at her and sat up enough to reach for his coffee mug. Kate gave him an approving nod.

“When you’re done with that, go shower. Then get your ass back down here to help me.” Kate dumped her first armload into the trashcan before pulling it further into the living room to start piling more in. She gestured around the living room. “It’s time you quit living in a pigsty. Wallowing was fine when you didn’t have anything to get moving for. But now you need to start keeping this place clean enough to have your boyfriend over.”

“It’s better’n it was a few months ago.” Clint pointed out. He’d tried to mostly keep it together after he’d cleaned the place for Phil’s first sleepover. “And I didn’t get much rest last night.”

“Sexcapades are not an excuse.” She threw a dirty sock that smacked him right in the eye. “And better isn’t really saying much. Come on, we’ll get the mess cleared away, and then mop the floor, and then you can get to bed. Won’t it be nice to sleep in an _actually_ clean house for a change?”

He pushed himself up wearily, knowing that she wasn’t wrong. The cleaner the place looked, the better he’d feel about waking up in it. His SHIELD therapist wasn’t entirely wrong about everything...not that he’d ever tell _her_ that...

*****

It was another two weeks before Clint and Phil were both off long enough to get together for more than a quick meal in the cafeteria. Every time they lunched together (or suppered together, or coffee-and-donuted together) in SHIELD’s mess hall, Clint could feel eyes on them from every corner. It bothered him at first, since he didn’t like drawing attention to himself, and he wondered what everyone was thinking. If they were all just waiting and making bets on how long until Coulson/Barton broke up. By their third joint meal– where Phil ignored everyone except Clint and gave him that sweet, crooked little smilette– Clint decided that most of the stares were either jealous or awed. 

And _those_ were things Clint knew how to handle. He started holding Phil’s hand across the table and adding his own swagger as he left the cafeteria with Phil’s fingers tangled in his own.

_Yes, thank you. I scored a Coulson. More than two nights running. Eat your hearts out, agents and specialists. None of you will_ ever _get a shot at him, because if things keep on like this, I’m gonna marry this man._

Clint froze the first time that thought hit. In all honesty, he hadn’t ever thought he’d marry. Even before Bobbi. Their few short years together had been good. Well, maybe not _good_ -good, but acceptable. Something that Clint never thought he’d have, and he never did think he deserved. She’d always been so far out of his reach that he always kinda felt like he was holding onto the tail of a comet, getting burned but unwilling to let go and spin away into the blackness of space.

Literally, a time or two.

It was different with Phil, though. For the most part, Phil didn’t seem to be in love with some idealized version of Clint. He’d seen Clint at his best, sure, wearing new clothes chosen just to impress. But he’d first met Clint when Clint was mired in his funk, showing up to meetings in jeans blown out at the knee and t-shirts with day-old food stains on them. He’d first _looked_ at Clint, been interested in Clint, when Clint was most certainly at his worst. Instead of being turned off by Clint’s drooling dog and crappy building, Phil had gotten Lucky treats and helped Clint with the building maintenance. He didn’t appear to want to change Clint so much as just...be with him.

It was new and magical, and Clint tried very hard not to think about it, about futures and marriages and whole long years together. He kept himself focused on “here” and “now” and breakfasts or coffee together in the cafeteria, and only looked forward as far as their next possible date.

In spite of all the time they spent together over small talk and sweets at work, Clint was still relieved when he finally found himself standing outside Phil’s place, wearing a new sportcoat over a so-dark-purple-it-was-nearly-black shirt, ready for a real dinner out. He hoped they’d have time to hit up the little sex shop Phil had mentioned (Clint _might_ have scoped it out and started making a mental wishlist). If not, though, he was just grateful they’d get to have a conversation: a _private_ conversation, without every SHIELD agent in New York City listening in, looking for gossip.

“Hi, babe.” Phil opened the door, looking like a Goddamned model in a blue sweater that hugged his chest and a pair of black slacks that hugged his thighs. Unlike Clint’s hallways, the lighting at Phil’s place was flattering: bright enough to show off Phil’s freckles but not so garish as to turn people weird colors. 

“You look good enough to eat,” Clint scraped his teeth across his bottom lip just to watch Phil’s eyes darken, “but I’d rather save you for dessert.”

“Was a that a line?” Phil crossed his arms over his chest, making his wide shoulders look wider, and leaned against the doorframe, head tilted and lips curling into a smirk. “Because that sounded like a line.”

“Absolutely not,” Clint answered, stepping close enough to run his fingers down the outside of Phil’s arm. “I meant every word of it.”

Phil’s smirk morphed into a pleased little smile, and his cheeks pinked under his lashes as he looked down. Clint couldn’t help leaning in to press his lips to the blush, his earlier thoughts about _I dos_ and _forever_ welling up in his chest. Clint caught his breath, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against Phil’s temple, feeling the world move under his feet or inside his heart. He breathed through it, waiting to panic, but the fear and claustrophobia never came. Phil uncrossed his arms and slid them slowly around Clint’s waist, worming into his jacket. 

“The things you say…” He leaned into Clint’s chest and hummed happily. “I’ve never...You surprise me, babe. I’m just not used to...to someone meaning it as anything more than a...a way to get in my pants.”

Clint nuzzled Phil’s earlobe and kissed the edge of his jaw. He liked catching Phil off-guard, saying things that startled the suave out of him, pushed the blush into his cheeks and ears.

“I’ve missed you,” Phil said quietly before pulling Clint into a gentle kiss. 

Clint closed his eyes, looped his arms around Phil’s neck, and lost himself in the slide of their mouths, the soft brush of tongue against tongue. After an eternity that didn’t last nearly long enough, Phil sighed softly– happily, Clint thought– and pulled away. Clint opened his eyes in time to see Phil’s lashes flutter as he slowly opened his own, sharp gaze gone hazy and warm. 

“We had breakfast together this morning.” Clint said it more gruffly than he intended, but his throat felt thick, choked with some kind of emotion he didn’t want to try to name. 

“Doesn’t count.” Phil smoothed Clint’s lapels with his palms and then touched soft fingers to Clint’s lips. “Haven’t been able to kiss you in weeks. And I’ve missed you.”

Clint kissed him again, because there wasn’t much else he could say to that. When he finally pulled away, Phil turned around to close the door. His ass looked as good in the slacks as his thighs did, so Clint reached out to pat.

“You keep that up,” Phil glanced over his shoulder with a flirty grin, “and we’ll have to have dessert first.”

Clint laughed, and then he laughed again as he felt his own face heat with a blush. He scratched his fingers through his hair.

“Shall we?” Phil held out his arm grandly, and Clint snorted and rolled his eyes.

But he took the offered arm, anyway, leaning in close to feel the heat of Phil’s side.

***** 

“There is no ass in the world _that_ could fit up.” Clint eyed the large rubber dong in Phil’s hand warily. “Seriously, Phil. That’s bigger than _you_.”

The young couple a few yards away tittered, stifled their laughter, and edged slightly closer; the young lady gave Phil an appraising look. Clint winked at her when she caught him catching _her_ ogling. She giggled again and started to steer her young male companion away. 

“I don’t know.” Phil kept his face impassive, but Clint could see the teasing glint in his eyes. He leaned close enough to whisper, “Maybe you should suck on it to test your theory.”

Clint felt his face heat, and he tried to give Phil a level stare. Phil, though, just glanced around to make sure they were alone in the aisle, and then he held the dildo down by his crotch and raised one eyebrow. Clint cracked up. He stifled himself as quickly as he could, feeling like the store was too upscale for his shenanigans. It was, in fact, the most upscale sex shop Clint had ever seen. 

Before coming in without Phil to scope out this one, he’d visited the one nearest to his own apartment. He’d spent a whole two minutes in the place. It was less “upscale” and more “full of various cheap things ‘for her pleasure’ plus a couple buttplugs that were more alarming than appealing.” Clint figured one family member with a furry tail was plenty, and he just couldn’t get the appeal of faux fur in a setting that was sure to include lube and possibly a variety of bodily fluids. Yech.

Phil was still looking at him, that challenging set to his chin, so Clint shoulder-bumped him lightly.

“We’ll try sticking something else in my mouth when we get home.” It wasn’t his best comeback, but Clint had been half-hard in his slacks since Phil had opened the door in that soft, fuzzy sweater that showed off the swell of his biceps and the curve of his perfect pecs. Before that, maybe. Probably when Phil had brushed the back of his knuckles down the side of Clint’s hand as he’d gotten up from breakfast that morning. Clint was shamelessly eager, and he’d never learned to play hard to get. In his life, if he didn’t take what was on offer _when_ it was on-offer, he’d learned he might not get it at all. 

“I’d like to stick something up your ass.” Phil said in a mild voice, quiet enough to carry no further than Clint’s ears. The corner of his lips curled just a hint, and Clint swallowed hard. “Fuck you hard until you come screaming.”

His face went pink again, a blush tinting the apples of his cheeks, and Clint kissed the blood-warmed skin lightly and smiled.

“I think I’d like that.” He whispered, and then turned back to the shelf and picked up something slightly (so very slightly) less intimidating. “I think you could make this one fit.”

Phil took the box out of Clint’s hand and licked his lips.

“That sounds like a challenge I’m willing to accept.”

*****

An hour and a half later, spread naked across Phil’s bed, hips tilted up on a pillow, Clint found he’d been correct: Phil _could_ make it fit. 

Two red paper bags sat on the floor, one with the puff of black tissue paper still poking out of the top. The other had been emptied of a bottle of lube, a pair of plugs (one slimmer than Phil’s middle finger, the other barely larger), the dildo with the flared base that Clint had picked out, and a short string of large silicone beads. Phil hadn’t bothered stripping off more than his shoes and his sweater before he peeled off all of Clint’s layers and started driving him wild.

To begin, Phil had slicked up three fingers on each of his hands, working in first one index finger and then the other. Once he’d gotten Clint loose and soft, he’d leaned forward and held Clint open to admit his tongue. Five minutes of _that_ had been enough to make Clint swear and shake, sweat and buck, and to beg Phil to stop it before Clint came without getting anything larger up his ass.

Instead of beginning with the smaller toys, Phil had gone straight to the dildo, making Clint cry out at the intensity of the stretch as Phil had pushed it slowly but steadily into him. He’d left it there, barely halfway in, leaning down to kiss Clint’s mouth until he’d adjusted and relaxed back into the now-wrinkled bedding. 

“I’m okay now,” Clint had whispered against Phil’s mouth, and Phil had moaned quietly and kissed him harder for just a second more. Phil had sat up and began to fuck him with the toy, moving his arm slowly and steadily, pushing firmly on each thrust to make Clint’s rim stretch against the flared bulb at the base of the dildo.

“God, you take it well for me,” Phil murmured, watching Clint’s ass with hot, hungry eyes. “You’re so loose now, letting me make you so soft and wet…” He ran a fingertip from his spare hand around Clint’s too-sensitive hole as he pushed in hard again. “The sounds you make… Jesus, Clint. I wonder if you could come from this, just from me fucking your ass like this.”

Clint thrashed his head from side to side, uncertain if he was trying to convey that he couldn’t or just that he didn’t want to. 

“Not yet, Phil, please!” Clint gripped the pillow beneath his head with both hands, and tried to lift his hips away from Phil’s hand; his hips didn’t cooperate, however, and he ended up fucking himself down onto the flexible silicone again, his orgasm building another level of electricity in his balls. “You gotta stop. Get… get naked before I… Want you to be there, too.”

Phil let go of the flange on the dildo and tipped forward to kiss Clint’s mouth and jaw and neck, small, frantic, biting little kisses.

“Yes,” he growled softly, nipping Clint’s earlobe. He scrambled off the bed and started yanking on his fly. His belt and slacks hit the floor together, and then he stepped out of his boxers; seeing the purple head of his fat cock made Clint’s mouth water. Phil’s undershirt was the last thing to go, and Clint reached out with both hands to catch his chest hair and pull him back down to the bed, to Clint’s waiting embrace.

“Wanna taste you,” Clint slurred against Phil’s lips. “Suck you down, choke on you. Wanna get your come all over me.”

Phil rutted between Clint’s legs, jolting the dildo against Clint’s prostate, creating friction all along Clint’s cock. 

“Yeah,” Phil panted. “Yes, Clint, yeah, I want...Oh God!”

Phil locked up, arms squeezing hard around Clint’s shoulders, teeth clenching down on the meat of Clint’s shoulder as his breathing stuttered on a quiet groan. The slide between their bodies got slick then slicker, and then Phil shuddered and pushed himself up weakly. 

“Well that wasn’t...exactly what I had in mind.” He smiled crookedly, and Clint couldn’t be sure, but he thought that some of the pink in Phil’s ears was embarrassment rather than orgasm.

Clint laid his palm across the streaks of Phil’s come on his stomach, slowly smearing it around. 

“It was pretty awesome from my side.” Clint lifted his hand to his lips, licking his palm from wrist to the tip of his middle finger and then sucking his fingertip into his mouth. “I love the way you taste.”

Phil’s eyes flashed again, and he folded himself down between Clint’s thighs, sucked down his cock, and again took hold of the base of the dildo. Clint grabbed his own hair, forgetting it was covered in Phil’s come, as Phil began fucking him _just right_ while he blew him, lips and tongue and just the barest hint of teeth all working to drive him wild. Clint didn’t have a chance of lasting for anything, and within moments he was yanking at Phil’s hair and his own hair and the comforter beneath him and anything else his frantic hands could reach. With one last garbled shout of Phil’s name, Clint felt his back arch as his orgasm nailed him in all of his body parts at once.

When he finally managed to move his head again, Clint found Phil lying beside him on the bed, sharing a pillow and smiling smugly.

“We’ve got to shower before we sleep.” Phil licked the corner of his lip like he was hunting for more of Clint’s come. “You’ve got me all over you, including in your hair.”

“Maybe I like it,” Clint countered, feeling his own face go goofy and warm. “Maybe I want to keep you all over. Let everyone know who I belong to.”

“Jesus, babe.” Phil leaned forward and kissed Clint’s cheekbone and nose and eyebrow, light and quick. “You can’t talk like that when I have no hope of getting it up again in the next hour.”

“It’s just a reminder for when you can.” Clint rolled into Phil’s chest, pulling his arms in against his own body to let Phil hold him close. “Just so you know how I feel.”

“You feel amazing,” Phil whispered, words blurry as he started exploring Clint’s hairline with his lips. “Most amazing thing I’ve ever felt.”

Clint licked across Phil’s collarbone, and that led to them finding out that _another hour_ was overestimating either of their recovery times. By the time an hour had passed, they were both lying in Phil’s whirlpool tub, wedged awkwardly together as they tried to soak off the evidence of both the first round _and_ the second.

*****

“You gonna stay for the weekend?” Phil tucked the (fresh from the dryer) blanket over Clint’s shoulders and pulled Clint’s head to his chest.

Clint ran his fingers through the silky hair across Phil’s chest and kissed his nipple lazily.

“Can’t.” He brushed his lips across a freckle on Phil’s shoulder. “Gotta get home early tomorrow. Is Lucky’s weekend with Kate, and I’m on Hawkeye duty.”

“Your beeper under the pillow?” Phil kissed Clint’s hair then twisted to kiss his lips. “Don’t want the world to end because you were sleeping in my bed.”

“Beeper’s on and here.” Clint flung his leg across Phil’s thigh and rubbed his soft dick against Phil’s hip. The pleasure was muted after two mind-blowing orgasms, but the domestic intimacy made his heart swell. “Your phone on?”

“Yup. But only SHIELD and Hill herself can get through right now.”

Clint tucked his arm across Phil’s waist and snuggled in, feeling Phil’s heart beating just below his cheek. 

“Tha’s good.” He felt waves of warm, lazy contentment start at his toes and creep up his body. “Night, babe.”

“Goodnight, Clint.”

Clint felt Phil’s arms tighten around his shoulders in a gentle hug, and then he was gone to dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life just keeps getting busier, which, in this case, means that the shop is getting busier. So I can't complain.
> 
> PLUS I got attacked by a case of the "writing for profit"s. And, well, I like money, so I had to give into that last weekend. Anyway, ongoing thanks to Laura Kaye for suffering through the porn over and over again to get this thing in shape.
> 
> ENJOY!


	4. The Way to a Man's Heart Starts at the Coffee Filter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concussions maybe ought to be treated in medical. But does SHIELD have hot coffee, a warm dog, a comfy bed, and a man who smells really good?

***** 

Clint and Phil had been dating for three months, and Clint wondered if that was some kind of record for him. His marriage had made it several years, even if most nights of those years were spent apart, but Clint couldn’t think of a single other person whose feelings had survived that long. He was starting to find himself thinking about the next day, the next week, maybe even the next month, wondering what new facets would develop in their relationship. He was unprepared for his own joy when he discovered the _best_ best part of having a boyfriend– provided that boyfriend was Phil Coulson, of course. He stumbled home from an extensive (and extensively _painful_ ) SHIELD mission and found his _boyfriend_ waiting for him. On his couch. With his dog. And a fresh pot of coffee. 

“Clint!” Phil shot to his feet as soon as Clint got the door opened all the way. “Babe, are you okay? You look like shit!”

“Thank you.” Clint felt himself wobble, so he reached out for the coatrack on the wall to steady himself. “Happy to see you, too. You don’t. Look like shit. You look…”

And maybe Clint should have listened to the medics and Hill and gone back for the head scan they’d wanted to do. Still. Just a minor concussion. No big deal. 

NBD

Ennnnn beeeee deeeee

Not a deal big or small or whatever and…

“Clint?” Phil had somehow teleported across the room to cup the side of Clint’s face and touch the bandage on his forehead with his other hand. “It _is_ a big deal. If you’ve got a concussion.”

Huh. Clint really needed to get better at not narrating his thoughts aloud.

“Only if you get better about saying what you’re thinking on purpose.” Phil guided Clint further into the room and balanced him against the wall while he shut and secured the door. “Shit, babe, do I need to take you back to SHIELD?”

“Does SHIELD have hot coffee, a warm dog, a comfy bed, and a man who smells–” Clint burrowed his nose into the side of Phil’s neck, closing his eyes and sinking down to let Phil hold him up. Good thing Phil was so damned strong. Even though Clint had a few inches and quite a few pounds on him, Phil could still take Clint’s weight, support him, cradle him close, make him feel safe and cared for and...and...and…

“You are safe, babe.” Phil walked backward carefully, aiming toward the couch. Lucky kept pace at their side, and Clint wondered how Phil’d managed to train him to stay out from under his feet in such a short time. “No training. Lucky’s a smart one; he knows you’re in a fragile state. Come on, babe. Sit with us.”

“You smell good.” Clint flopped onto the couch, gritting his teeth at the jolt to his head. Phil sank down carefully beside him, and Clint leaned in and twisted to get his nose back into the happy spot against Phil’s neck. “Nobody else at SHIELD smells as good as you.”

“Thank you,” Phil answered solemnly, as if Clint’d said something profound or given Phil a huge kind of compliment. “And yes, SHIELD has coffee. The beds in medical aren’t too horrible, but I skip the aftershave when I know could be called out for a mission any moment. It’d be worth taking a few minutes to shower it off, though.” His ears turned pink. “If you, um, like it.”

Clint smiled against Phil’s neck. Yeah, he’d like that.

“But we probably still can’t sneak in the dog.” Clint turned further to hang himself across Phil’s chest so he could reach back with one arm to pat Lucky’s head. Lucky licked his fingers and whined. “And they wouldn’t let you in my bed, probably.”

“As long as you’re not losing time, and as long as your headache doesn’t get any worse, you can stay here.” Phil kissed the bandage over a burn on Clint’s neck with gentle lips. “And as long as you let me watch over you tonight.”

“Not kicking you out,” Clint murmured, feeling suddenly warm and on the edge of sleep. “Haven’t slept more’n five hours in the last four days, though, so I’m gonna hafta sleep.”

Phil carefully pushed Clint up to where he could look into his eyes. Clint kissed the end of his nose, and Phil laughed and hugged Clint back to him.

“I’m waking you up for a concussion check every hour, you know.” He shifted, gathering Clint close to push him to his feet. “And I’m calling the SHIELD emergency line if you fail so much as one step of it.”

“Fair enough.” Clint got his legs under himself up enough to get upright, still leaning into Phil’s embrace. It was kinda nice to have enough room for two people between the couch and the coffee table, without all the empty bottles and empty pizza boxes and mis-folded newspapers that used to live there. “Now take me to bed and have your way with me.”

“My way for right now is reading on my tablet while _you_ get some rest and start to heal.” Phil kissed Clint, soft and easy, avoiding the split on his bottom lip. “Once you’re moving on your own steam, we’ll see what other ways I can have with you.”

Sounded good to Clint. He took Phil’s fingers between his own and started to lead the way toward the loft and bed and probably a few nights of really bad dreams and, hopefully, waking up to some really _good_ sex.

Over the next twelve hours, Clint was proven right. About the nightmares, anyway. Waking up didn’t lead to sex, but it did lead to soft hands on his face, soft lips against his own, soft words murmured into his ear. All in all, Clint’d had many worse recoveries from a fucked-up hellhole of a mission. By the time Phil let him sleep four hours in a row, Clint’s nightmares had faded into barely restless dreams of hunting through SHIELD’s various bases and buildings, following Phil’s scent without quite being able to catch him. Frustrating, to be sure, but not exactly nightmare material. 

Especially since every time he reached out in his dreams, the waking-world Phil would catch his hand and kiss his battered knuckles, then tuck himself more tightly against Clint’s side. Clint faded back into deeper, dreamless sleep with Phil's breath against his neck and Phil's warm palm resting over his heart. 

The pale glow of sunrise flooding the lower half of Clint’s loft finally woke him up for real, and he grumbled his way upright. His ribs still ached, but not in a broken-again kind of way. His face kinda hurt, but not in the stiff-numb-painful way of a broken nose or a cracked cheekbone. His head had mostly quit pounding, so maybe his problem had been less concussion and more general sleep-deprivation. It could be so hard to tell the difference between the two sometimes. 

Phil mumbled in his sleep and burrowed into the covers, pressing his nose firmly against Clint’s boxer-clad hip. Apparently once he’d decided Clint wasn’t going to die on him, he’d finally given into sleep as well. Lucky, on the other hand, was wide awake and giving Clint soulful eyes from the end of the bed. With the pressure in Clint’s bladder, he totally understood what the dog was saying, and all he could do was give back the same desperate look.

“Hang on, mutt. Daddy’s gotta go first.” 

Clint carefully extracted himself from Phil’s clutching arms– snuggly octopus– and scooted around the bed as gingerly as he could manage while trying to hurry. Really, bruises and cuts and a few creaking ribs were nothing compared to how he really needed to go _right the hell now._ He took the extra second to shut the door quietly behind himself to keep from waking Phil up either with a slamming door or...even less-appealing sounds, and then he nearly cried when he realized he was wearing the sleep pants with the drawstring.

Wouldn’t usually be a problem, but he’d managed to tie the damn thing in a knot. He walked back out a few minutes later, hoping Lucky was still waiting patiently, but he knew he couldn’t be mad if the dog had finally given up and used the welcome mat. 

Again.

Thankfully, Lucky had waited (and continued to wait until Clint got him outside to his favorite hydrant). He left pee-mail at a few stops down the block, took care of the rest of his business on a scrap of grass just outside the park, and then hurried to pull Clint home. Clint tried very hard not to be hurried. It was a long walk for a gimpy knee.

Clint dragged himself up the stairs to his apartment, wishing– not for the first time– that he lived a little closer to the ground. Ha. A hawk nesting on the ground. _That_ just wasn’t right.

“There’s fresh coffee.” 

Trust Phil to greet him with the best three words in the English language.

“I love you, too.” Clint froze as soon as he’d said it. He hadn’t known he meant it, not really. Not until he heard the words. But he _did_ mean it. Rather a lot. It was terrifying and exhilarating, and Clint tried to cover his verbal fumble. 

“So what are we doing today, Phil?” 

Phil clearly decided to act on the first sentiment and ignore the lame attempt at deflection.

Clint found himself shoved against the door, a little too roughly for his various aches and pains, but not _nearly_ hard enough for the thumping of his heart. Phil held him in place with two fistfuls of the front of Clint’s hoodie and kissed him, rough and sloppy and wet.

“I love you.” Phil broke away panting, his face flushed red, his lips swollen and blurred from Clint’s morning shadow. “God, Clint, I–” 

He cut off to kiss Clint again, and Clint finally got his hand freed from Lucky’s leash and tangled his fingers in Phil’s hair. His other hand found the natural resting place on the sharp edge of Phil’s hip, pulling him close enough to make Clint’s kick-bruised ribs complain. He ignored them. Burns and bootmarks could go fuck themselves; Clint was kissing his boyfriend.

His boyfriend that he loved. 

“Shit shit shit!” Phil pulled away so fast that Clint was left kissing nothing, his tongue hanging out awkwardly exploring air instead of the sharp edges of Phil’s teeth. “Sorry! I’m sorry! I forgot you...Did I hurt you?”

Clint couldn’t help himself. He just leaned harder against the door and started to laugh, weakly at first. His sniggers grew and brought friends until he was tilting awkwardly against the wall, holding his ribs to cut down on the soreness while he laughed until moisture gathered at the corners of his eyes and he had to sit on the floor and just breathe for a minute until he could move again.

“You’re so weird.” Phil grinned down at Clint for a minute before offering a hand to pull him up. “Come on, baby. Get up here where I can kiss you again, yeah?”

Clint let himself be dragged to his feet, only flinching a little as he unfolded. Phil made good on his promise of more kissing, but he was careful with it, holding Clint lightly by the unbruised patch on one bicep and the wrist on the other side. Clint wanted to drag him closer, but Phil bit his top lip once, firmly, when he tried, so he submitted to being kissed tenderly. Softly. Like his well-being really, really mattered. 

“I love you,” he breathed again, the words nearly swallowed by Phil’s lips against his own. “Really, Phil. You...you’re really great.”

“I love you, too.” Phil grinned at him, eyes bright and happy and a little hungry. “Now come have some coffee so I can get you into the shower and check out your various injuries. After that, I fully intend to put you back in bed to rest.”

“So while we’re in the shower?” Clint caught Phil’s hips and pulled him back in, rubbing his erection against Phil’s lower belly. “You gonna help me take care of this?”

“Nope.” Phil popped the p and then licked his lips. “I figure putting you to bed and riding you to mutual satisfaction will be a much more effective way of getting you to actually rest a little bit. But _you_ have to promise to just lie back and enjoy.”

“I don’t know if I can promise that, babe.” Clint leaned down to unfasten Lucky’s leash– poor dog had sat obediently by his side through all the kissing and laughing. “But I’ll try, okay. Just know that once I have someone as hot as you sitting on my dick, all bets are off.”

Phil blushed, pink and soft and shy, and Clint felt his dick throb again. He stepped into the kitchen to pour a fresh mug and to top up his own.

“Drink your coffee, babe.” Phil turned back and smiled, pleased and open and happy. “Then we’ll see what’s on the agenda for the rest of the day.”

They shared breakfast at the bar, just cold cereal and milk, but Clint barely tasted it. They both exchanged smiles over their spoonfuls of something crispy and sugary, and then Clint forgot about finishing his flakes before they turned to goo. There was a small, glossy drop at the center of Phil’s top lip, and Clint leaned over to kiss it away (thinking thoughts of cats and cream) and got distracted by the way Phil moved in his arms, slow and easy, tucking their upper bodies together like they were made for nothing more than holding each other. Phil gave him a direct look when they finally broke apart, and Clint tipped up his bowl, downing the soggy flakes and the sugar-based silt from the bottom of the bowl without tasting it.

Who cared about the flavor of the food that provided the fuel, when all that mattered was taking in enough calories to survive whatever sexy plans Phil had in mind.

In the shower, Clint tried to get Phil going, but Phil just soaped gently over his abrasions and bruises, absolutely ignoring both Clint’s jutting erection and his own. Clint eventually got fed up with all the touching and none of it leading anywhere, so he looped his arms around Phil’s neck, pulling him into tender kisses between whispered exchanges of _I love you_ and blissful sighs.

Phil dried them both off, toweling roughly over his own skin before turning off the hot water and helping Clint step onto the tattered bathmat (Lucky had chewed a couple of the corners while bored, and Clint thought the fringed edges made it look vintage– at least he hoped they did). He patted the water from Clint’s legs and ass, swiped the towel gently over his back, and then leaned in to lick a drop from Clint’s throat. Clint let out a breathy moan, and Phil grinned at him and leaned in to lick another stripe on the thin skin behind Clint’s ear. Clint shook and pleaded, and Phil laughed and bit him before relenting and leading Clint back to his bed.

“Do you think you can lie on your stomach?” Phil held Clint close and toyed with the tip of his already-leaking cock. “I want to eat you out before I ride you.”

“Glurk!” 

It wasn’t much of an answer, certain not intelligible. Probably not very original, but Phil seemed to understand Clint just fine. He kissed Clint’s mouth one more time before he leaned back and smiled warmly. “I’m so damned lucky to have you in my life, babe.” 

Clint felt like he was melting into a happy puddle, and he smiled back, feeling goofy and warm all through. He let himself be turned and gently spread across the bed after another quick kiss. Phil tucked a pillow against his side to brace his sore shoulder and carefully heaved the comforter out of the way of Clint’s stiff knee. Clint let himself relax under Phil’s tender touch; he’d never been handled so carefully by anyone– not doctors or nurses, not previous lovers, _no_ one had been so good to him when he was tired and sore and horny.

“You’re awesome,” he murmured while Phil was fussing with the pillows, trying to get them far enough out of Clint’s way to keep them from pushing against his neck burn. Phil kissed his cheek, and Clint thought Phil’s ears had gone an incredibly charming shade of pink. “Seriously, Phil. Best thing that’s happened to me in…” _ever_. 

Clint couldn’t finish the sentence, afraid that saying it aloud would break something. Would break his sudden run of good luck. While he was confident that Phil meant _love_ when he said _love_ , Clint knew that love today didn’t always equal love tomorrow. At least, not for other people. Clint had given up on learning how to not love; even though his feelings for old lovers, old girlfriends, his ex-wife had morphed into a different kind of fondness.. And then he wondered, only for a hot minute before putting the thought away as too fragile to handle too deeply, if he might not ever have to make himself fall out of love with Phil. He thought again of promises of forever and paperwork and legally belonging, and then he found himself pulled firmly back to the present, away from any theoretical future, as Phil climbed between his thighs and licked firmly across his hole.

Phil hummed and rumbled as he worked Clint’s ass with his mouth, sounding for all the world like there was nothing that could ever make him happier than spending an entire morning driving Clint to distraction with his tongue. Clint was all in favor, since he couldn’t think of many things that would make _him_ much happier.

And then Phil started using his fingers, too.

Clint wanted to thrash and twist and try to screw himself further onto Phil’s hand and face, but he was actually still too sore to do much more than shiver and groan and curse. Apparently, that was all the encouragement that Phil needed, because he pulled back far enough to bite a bruise onto the curve of Clint’s left ass-cheek (and Clint thought about sitting on _that_ during his next meeting at SHIELD and nearly choked with how hot he found the idea) and began to seriously work Clint (and his prostate) over with three thick fingers. 

“ _Je_ -sus, Phil!” Clint gasped, back arching without his consent. “Fuck, I’m gonna...gonna come if you keep– Oh _fuck_ , babe!”

“Shhhh,” Phil crooned, pulling back and suddenly only sliding one finger in and out in slow, lazy pushes. “Shhh, baby. I’ve got you.”

“Yeah you do.” Clint sighed and folded his arms under his head, trying to clench around Phil’s single finger. 

Phil hummed, gently and quietly. He returned a second finger to Clint’s ass, licking between them quickly before he propped his cheek on Clint’s thigh.

“Want something up here while I ride you?” He licked again before Clint could answer. “Could fill you up with that big plug. Bet it’ll go in easy now.” 

He spread his fingers wide, and Clint groaned, loud and long, to show his absolute approval. His moan turned to a whine as Phil’s fingers withdrew entirely.

“No!” Clint thrashed his head weakly. “Too empty without you.”

“Hang on, babe.” Phil carefully, slowly, withdrew his hand. “Gonna grab the slick and something to take away all your empty space.”

“Hurry back,” Clint murmured, realizing how drunk he sounded and grinning crookedly at the thought. Intoxicated on Phil. Such a very _nice_ way to leave reality behind.

“What’s that smile?” Phil leaned his face on the pillow beside Clint, kissing the tip of his nose fondly. 

“Just...you.” Clint grinned at him and shifted just enough to bump his own lips to Phil’s. “It’s all just you.”

Phil smiled back, eyes watery and soft, looking young and fresh and sexy and wise at once. 

“In just a minute,” he whispered, breath hot against Clint’s face, “it’s gonna be all this.”

He scooted back enough to hold a plug, larger than the one he’d purchased with Clint at the sex shop they’d visited together. The plug was dark blue with a wide, blunt tip and a thick head above a wide shaft, and Clint’s throat went dry. Phil blinked, face morphing from fond and loving to sexy and mischievous instantly.

“You, ah,” Clint croaked the words, sucked on his tongue to get a little moisture in his mouth, swallowed, and tried again. “You think it’ll go?”

“I’ll be easy, yeah?” Phil’s brows crinkled slightly, and Clint had a flash of realization that ‘Get It’ Coulson was actually, impossibly _nervous_ about a sex act. Phil took a deep breath. “If you...if you want to wait, I can get the–”

“I want it,” Clint interrupted him. “That one. This one. The big one. I want it.”

It was Phil’s turn to swallow hard, and Clint carefully pried one hand out from under his head to touch Phil’s bottom lip. He still wasn’t entirely certain what he’d done to get Phil’s attention, and he had less idea how he’d managed to turn confident, swaggering Agent Coulson into cautious, blushing Phil. He _liked_ cautious, blushing Phil, loved him, even. Because Clint was starting to figure out that there wasn’t a version of his boyfriend he didn’t love. But he didn’t like the little pinch between Phil’s eyebrows, the nervous quiver of his mouth. 

Clint only knew one way to deal with that, one way to turn that expression back into bold and sexy and eager. He jiggled his hips lightly side to side and grinnned. 

“Come on, baby.” He pushed his hand back under his cheek and closed his eyes. “I’m so _empty_ inside. Fill it up. Fill _me_ up. I’m ready for you.”

“You have to hold still, Clint.” Phil’s voice dropped another several tones, purring and sexy. “You promised you’d lie there and take it.”

“Can’t take it if you don’t give it to me.”

The bed shook as Phil moved, and then Clint squeaked when another trail of lube– cold and wet and promising– ran down his crack and over his sensitive opening. Phil worked Clint with his fingers again, pressing in deep and steady, and Clint wished he could purr like a cat. Phil’s thick hands felt so good on his body, _in_ his body, finding every nerve that had been neglected for so long. He was just relaxing into the bed when a new pressure, blunt and unforgivingly hard, pressed between his cheeks.

“Bear down for me.” Phil’s voice sounded cracked wide open, and Clint moaned softly in answer, The push got firmer, the stretch more intense, and then Clint felt his inner walls widen out, making space in his body for Phil to fill him up. “Oh, God, that went in easier than I expected.” Phil leaned down to kiss Clint’s spine, just above his ass. “You’re a wonder, Clint. So incredible. Perfect.”

Clint opened his eyes, but the world had gone hazy and soft, and then Phil moved the plug, and everything snapped into focus. The thickness made it press insistently against his prostate, and the electric shock of it jolted his legs into movement. Phil sat on them to hold them down.

“I said not to move.” He pulled at the base of the plug, and Clint pushed his face into the pillow to muffle the embarrassingly high squeak he let out at the stretch. “I have half a mind to fuck you with this until you come, but I’d really rather ride you.”

“If you have any intention of making use of my cock,” Clint gasped, turning his head so Phil could understand him, “then you need to get on it.”

“Of course.” Phil sounded amused, and only then did Clint catch the double entendre. He laughed breathlessly, and then Phil pushed the plug firmly back in place. “Let me help you roll.”

Clint pushed himself up on shaking arms, and Phil moved to the side to kiss his face. They stayed there for several minutes, one of Phil’s hands cupping the side of Clint’s face gently, and then– perfect, devious asshole– Phil reached back and moved the plug again. Clint broke the kiss with a gasp, and Phil caught him around the chest before he collapsed.

“There you go, babe.” Phil patted the end of the plug once before easing Clint back to the mattress and rolling him over onto his back. “How does that feel?”

“Like I have a really big… _thing_ up my ass.” Clint shuffled restlessly just to make it push on his prostate a little more firmly. “Christ, how is that so good?”

Shifting his position, using his limbs, had cleared Clint’s head, waking him up from the sex-haze, and he licked his lips and grinned up at Phil.

“You like stuffing me so full?” Clint asked lightly. “Making me take something too big for anything less than a superhero?”

“Of course.” Phil said it lightly, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I mean, I think that’s only a bit smaller than I am.” He leaned over to pull a condom out of the duffle he’d left on the floor, ripping it open and examining the rubber before rolling it down Clint’s cock. Clint arched into his hands and moaned.

“You gotta stay still for me, babe.” Phil leaned down and kissed Clint’s lips, just a hasty peck. “Or I’m gonna leave you there, all filled up and begging.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you.” Clint laughed and reached up to touch Phil’s face with one trembling hand. “Gotta tell you though, I’m not much into denial of pleasure.”

Phil eyed Clint’s purpling erection with comic obviousness, and Clint laughed and swatted him on the shoulder. 

“I do see that, yeah.” Phil straddled Clint’s hips and smiled wickedly down at him. He reached behind him, unerringly grabbing the base of the plug and twisting it to make Clint squeak again. I think there’s a size queen in you begging to get out.” 

“Right about now,” Clint answered, trying for Phil’s usual dry delivery and missing by a giggling mile, “there’s a horny boyfriend in me begging to get _in_.”

Phil wrinkled his nose and turned the plug again, eyes twinkling playfully above the mock-seriousness of his frown. “I’m not so sure you’re as toppy as you think you are.” 

Clint sucked in a huge breath before letting out a gusty sigh, and Phil laughed again.

“You’re probably right,” Clint admitted, an odd serious note trickling through the banter they’d been tossing around. He put the thought away for another time (when he wasn’t about to get to fuck Phil) and then reached up to tug lightly on a ruffled tuft of Phil’s chest hair. “But I was promised riding, and I _want_ it.”

“Oh, you’ll get it.” Phil gave him a dark, hot look, and Clint laughed again, just because he felt good: safe and happy and wanted, getting the full, hungry attention of the best boyfriend in the the world.

“This time,” Clint said, giving Phil his best saucy look, “I think you’ll find _you’ll_ be getting it.” He shot a glance at the monster erection Phil sported and sighed happily. “But maybe sometime you’ll be the one giving it to me.”

“ _This_ time, I’ll ride you.” Phil settled his weight more firmly on Clint’s hips, and Clint hissed at the pressure on his cock. “I’d like that, though. To see if you can take me.” 

“Yeah.” Clint was surprised at how much he meant it right at that moment. “Yeah, don’t want any other cock, babe. Only one I’d ever ride would be yours.”

“You think you’d get a taste of this–” Phil gestured at his pelvis– “and it’d ruin you for all other men?” 

Clint felt a bolt of heat chase up his spine, and he wondered if it was from the plug pushing on his...everything, or if it was from the idea of their positions reversed: Clint straddling Phil; sitting on that thick, heavy cock; fucking himself on it until he came entirely untouched. 

“Maybe” Clint sniffed, pretending that wasn’t one of the simultaneously hottest and most terrifying things he’d ever pictured. Phil raised an eyebrow at him, and Clint hurried on, pushing himself away from the treacherous waters of sincerity and back to the playful sexual banter. “I think your imagination is running away with you. And I _also_ think that I’m not the one so anxious to get a dick up my ass that I’m willing to use extortion to get it.”

Clint folded his arms behind his head, flinched as it pressed a little too hard on the burn on his forearm, and shifted until he was only pillowed on his mostly uninjured arm. 

“Making you promise to lie back and enjoy is hardly blackmail, Clint.” Phil poured another stream of lube over his fingers and mock-scowled. The expression made his soft, sexy mouth strangely fierce, and Clint wished his ribs didn’t hurt so much; he’d have sat up, grabbed the man, and kissed that face until they were both breathless with it, if he could. “I mean, just because I said I’d get off your cock every time you tried to move…” He trailed off and raised one eyebrow again, challenging and cocky.

_Cocky. Heh. Especially with that monster between his legs…_

Clint arched his back just a very little, just to make the plug shift again. So Phil wasn’t entirely wrong about how much Clint liked to be stuffed full of...something. Sue him. 

“Clint…” Phil said it warningly and then shifted back to Clint’s thighs to wrap both of his hands, now well-coated in slick, around Clint’s cock. “I _will_ duct tape you to this bed and leave you lying here, full of nothing but that plug, and not get you off. Don’t think I won’t.”

“Keep talking dirty to me,” Clint teased, raising an eyebrow back at Phil, “And I won’t need your ass to get me off.”

Phil laughed and leaned down to kiss Clint, still gripping his dick like a joystick. It put pressure on Clint’s belly, adding to the weight of the plug in his ass, and Clint moaned into Phil’s mouth and let the pleasure roll through his body without letting himself move at all. 

“There you go, babe.” Phil ground down against Clint’s belly again; he clearly knew what he was doing, knew how good it felt.

For one spectacularly stupid instant, Clint felt an irrational jealousy for everyone who’d ever been in Phil’s bed before he got there. It flashed away as quickly as it had flashed in, leaving a weird feeling in Clint’s chest. He wasn’t entirely positive, but the last time he _thought_ he remembered being jealous was in fourth grade when Michael McGee had gotten a cocker spaniel puppy for Christmas and Clint had only gotten a few items of clothing. Then again, the following spring found Clint and Barney in the circus, and Clint figured a couple lions, horses, and a single elephant were _way_ cooler than a puppy, so he’d gotten over that, too.

“Where are you?” Phil leaned down over Clint, kissing him sloppily on the corner of his mouth. “You just went a million miles away.”

“Nah.” Clint reached up with his injured arm to touch the hinge of Phil’s jaw, sliding his fingers down until he could feel the hammering pulse at the base of his neck. “Was just thinking how lucky I’ve been. How many times I’ve gotten things way better than what I’d hoped for. I never expected _anyone_ like you, babe. I just...thanks.”

Phil’s sex-flushed face turned pinker, and he smiled down at Clint, wide and startled and open, and Clint’s chest filled up until his feelings popped out his mouth.

Again.

“You’re really great, and I’d love it if I could fuck you now.”

_Aww, mouth. Way to fuck up a tender moment._

Apparently Phil didn’t mind _too_ much, though, because he just shifted forward, kissed Clint’s mouth hard, settled himself carefully into place, and started to lower himself over Clint’s dick. It felt _so damned good_ that for one heart-stopping moment, Clint thought he’d come before Phil got himself all the way seated. But Phil– perfect, wonderful, Sex God Phil– reached back to give Clint’s balls just enough of a squeeze to settle him down. 

“Thanks,” Clint croaked, throat completely dry at how _good_ it felt to be nestled into the _gloriously_ hot, _stupendously_ tight grip of Phil’s ass. “Shit, you feel good to me.”

Phil answered with a tiny moan, and then he rocked just a bit, groaning louder as he ground down and swiveled his hips. Clint didn’t make any sound at all, because all the air punched out of him in a soundless rush. He clung to the edge of his pillowcase with one hand and Phil’s shoulder with the other, fighting to keep from lifting his hips to push deeper into the warmth of Phil’s body. Phi made another of those little whimper-groans, and then he started to move. Every shift of him made Clint’s fingers tighten until he was sure he’d tear his bedding or bruise Phil’s shoulder, and he couldn’t seem to get enough air. 

He was pretty sure he was about to die. Again. 

At least he’d go happy for a change.

“Jesus, Clint! Feel so good” Phil planted both hands on Clint’s chest, placing them carefully to avoid the livid bruises from the goon-squad’s boots and the singed bits from where Clint had gotten a little too enthusiastic with his incendiary arrows (incendiarrows?). “Fuck, you’re incredible! So fucking perfect, in bed and out of it.”

Clint didn’t see what he was doing that was all that special, since all he could do was lie there and take everything Phil gave him. Every movement of Phil’s body shifted the plug in Clint’s ass until he felt like he was being fucked as steadily as he was fucking Phil. It was _amazing_.

“Baby! Baby, please! I gotta–” Clint reached up and caught Phil’s hip with the hand not trying to imbed itself in Phil’s shoulder. “Please, can I move?”

“Do it,” Phil growled. He leaned down further, hands shifting to rest beside Clint’s face. “Fuck me. Give it to me like you mean it.”

With encouragement like that, Clint forgot all about his various injuries: the strained muscles in his back, the tweaked knee, the creaky ribs, and bruised face. He settled both hands on Phil’s sides, planted his heels against the mattress and started lifting to meet Phil’s hips every time they shifted down. Phil’s harsh breaths sounded like static– sexy static– through Clint’s hearing aids, and Clint could feel his own throat going raw to match. 

“S’not gonna take long, babe.” Clint forced the words out, airless and ragged as they were. “You’re too good. Feels too good.”

“Yeah,” Phil answered. He sounded dreamy and lost, probably answering Clint’s tone and not the words themselves. “Yeah, I’m gonna...Fuck! I’m gonna come like this. Swear to God, Clint, don’t need–”

His words cut off in a reedy moan, and his whole face flushed brighter as he started to shake, ass clenching around Clint’s dick. Well, good enough. Didn’t get better, in fact, and Clint let go of all control, grinding hard up against Phil’s ass, trying to bury himself deeper than all the way as he spilled in the condom. 

Clint was nearly ashamed of himself for how useless he was after that. Endorphins kept the aches at bay, helped along by the couple of white caplets and the couple of brown tablets that Phil brought up with a bottle of water. Clint tried to sip at the water, but he ended up pouring about two-thirds of it down his throat in one go, and then he gulped down the rest in a hurry so he could get himself completely flat on his back again. Phil just finished wiping off Clint’s chest, and then unbandaged Clint’s burns to apply a little more ointment and some fresh gauze. 

When Phil finally finished futzing around the apartment, he turned out the lights downstairs and climbed the stairs with Lucky on his heels. Both of them used to injuries, their own and Clint’s, they managed to slide onto and into the bed without making Clint hurt any worse, and then found safe places to curl up, one on each side of him. 

“Good dog, Luck.” Clint patted the muzzle under his fingers and then shuffled slightly sideways to press his hip against Phil’s tucked-up knees. “Love you, Phil.”

“Love you, too, babe.” Phil stretched forward to kiss Clint’s cheekbone, lips pressing so lightly against a bruise that it barely smarted. “Now get some sleep so you can start healing up. Bet we can get more athletic next time.”

And that was just _entirely_ unfair. Hot, super-sexy, super-spy boyfriends should not be allowed to say sexy shit to a guy who was too beat up to get it up again any time soon.

*****

Clint glanced at the obnoxious kitten calendar that Tony kept on the wall in the kitchen at the Mansion. At least, Clint supposed it was Tony and his overblown sense of irony. Although kittens with uplifting sayings written below then could also have been one of Cap’s brilliant, team-building ideas. Hell, any of his teammates might have hung it; they all ranged from assholes to giant dorks, and it could have appealed to any of them in ways ranging from sarcastic to squee.

Anyway, the tail of the tiny dangling tiger kitten (hanging just past the supposedly inspiring _When life leaves you hanging...DON’T QUIT!_ Clint had often found that letting go led to much better solutions) pointed right to the date, and Clint had to think for a few minutes to figure out why it waved a flag in the messy files of his brain. Something important? Something meaningful? 

_Oh_.

It’d been exactly four months since Clint’d first taken Phil to breakfast and they’d kissed in the hall. Four months of stealing evenings and occasional overnights when they were both, somehow, magically free for a few hours at the same time. They’d managed a couple of lost weekends together, and Clint didn’t know what good he’d done to deserve it, but he was grateful. He was also strangely grateful for the mysterious baking supplies that had begun to clutter up his cabinets and the not-his-own t-shirts and boxers that he occasionally found himself folding with his own laundry.

Four months. Clint thought that might actually almost be a record. Certainly was with a guy. He’d been with Simon for two when the whole thing went ass up (and not in the sexy way). Four months, and things were still going well with Phil. Clint toasted the calendar with his cereal bowl and slid onto a stool. 

The takedown of Doombots in Jersey (and why the _Hell_ would Doombots want to attack Jersey? It was already a shit-heap, in Clint’s considered, New Yorker opinion) had taken most of the previous evening and half the night. After finding himself at the Mansion with the rest of the Avengers on duty, Clint’d decided that getting home was too big of a challenge, and he’d curled up in his part-time quarters to exchange a few dirty texts with his boyfriend. Staring at the calendar from across the room, Clint wondered if four months was the kind of thing Phil would want to celebrate, and if he might like to celebrate by defiling Clint’s Avenger’s Mansion bed.

“Lord, what the hell are you smiling at this time in the morning?” Jess stomped into the kitchen, wrapped in a robe, hair in sleep-tangled drifts around her shoulders. She was still awfully pretty, but thinking that didn’t give Clint the same kind of weird belly-butterflies that it used to. “Did Tony put cocaine in the coffee again?”

“Unfounded rumor, Jess.” Clint shook his head at her. “You know Tony wouldn’t abuse coffee like that. He doesn’t have much sense, but he’s got more than that. In addition to being completely not cool, it’d taste like ass.” And then Clint found himself thinking of what Phil’s ass tasted like and half of the blood in his body rushed to his face. The other half went someplace that Clint didn’t dare acknowledge with his ex in the kitchen.

“So what has you so perky?” Jess gave Clint a suspicious look over the rim of her coffeecup. “Are you...are you seeing someone?”

Clint nodded, trying hard to keep his expression neutral. Ex-girlfriends could be tricky things, and Jess was both trickier and more capable of making him feel about one inch tall than most. Sure, she’d hurt him when she’d treated him as nothing more than arm candy. And he’d hurt her, for damned sure, when he’d been offered easy sex elsewhere and decided to dive in head first. He’d told himself (and her) that it was because he hadn’t been ready for a commitment, but, now– hindsight being what it was and him being noted for his clear sight– he could admit that had been a lie. It was less about not being ready and more about a basic incompatibility between the two of them. Still, he shouldn’t have just hopped into bed with the first willing person. _That_ had been unkind and uncalled for. He didn’t want to cause her any more...emotional upheaval, but he wasn’t prepared to lie about his relationship to spare anyone’s feelings; Phil deserved better than that.

_And maybe I do, too_. Clint turned that thought over for just a moment and then tucked it away in the safe place in his chest to examine again later.

“Oh.” She blinked and turned away, hiding her face behind a sweep of hair. “So what’s her name?”

“Um, his.” _Smooth, Barton._ He cleared his throat, trying to sound more confident than he felt in the face of her sharp tongue. “It’s a guy. Phil. Coulson.”

Jess spun back to look at him, eyes wide and startled. Clint _hoped_ it wasn’t because the new person was a guy; surely she’d known that he was bi. He’d never tried to keep it secret, really, even if he did usually get involved with women. Falling into bed with women was...simpler. Not easier– God, no– men were always easier to coax into bed, Simon being a case in point. But there was usually less bullshit weighing on being involved with women, less...negotiation. Fewer dick politics.

Then again, thing with Phil were both easy _and_ simple. Clint figured that was just because Phil was awesome.

Jess gave him another glare as he huffed a soft laugh into his mug. 

“So how long’ve you been fucking him?” Her mocking drawl made his shoulders bunch defensively, and he forced himself to relax before he answered.

Even so, his tone was sharper than he intended it to be.

“We’ve been _dating_ four months.” Clint leaned forward against the counter and propped himself up with one arm, staring her down across the island. He’d been scolded– more than once and mostly by Jess– for looking _intimidating_ that way, shoulders flexed, jaw locked; usually he was just trying to keep himself from flopping face-first onto the floor and snoring when he did it. This time, he made sure his bicep had flexed a bit, too. “It’s...it’s pretty serious.” 

The last part came out softer, and he could feel himself smiling, probably ruining his attempt at making her back off. He didn’t care, though, because he _was_ serious about Phil. Best of all, Phil seemed pretty serious in return. It was kinda heady, being on the receiving end of someone else’s serious. Seeing Phil’s stuff scattered around his place. Knowing that his missing DVDs were at Phil’s…

“Wow. Okay. So what makes him so special, huh?” Jess thumped her mug down on the counter, and Clint was relieved that she’d drunk enough of it to keep from slopping coffee over the rim. Spilled coffee always made him twitchy, a sacrilege of the worst sort, in his opinion. “You were so… _nervous_ about settling down before. You told me you weren’t ready to get serious.”

“It’s just...different with him.” Clint shrugged, refusing to be baited. He didn’t want to fight with her, afraid he’d lose his temper, afraid he’d allow himself to get angry just because she wanted him to. He didn’t care for how anger made him feel, how much he heard his father when he got mad enough to shout.

“Coulson…” Jess shook her hair back and got that calculating look on her face, the one that used to mean Clint was about to get his world rocked on the nearest flat surface. Seeing that look in this context, though, made Clint do a quick mental check of all his exits. “Kinda reedy voice, already going bald, bakes scones? Isn’t he the one that’s fucked his way through most of SHIELD. Doesn’t sleep in the same bed more than a couple weeks.” Her eyes were hot and angry, and Clint wondered why she couldn’t just let it go. Probably had something to do with being the one who felt wronged; Jess held grudges longer than nearly anyone else he’d ever known. “Must be just your type.”

Clint winced. He’d probably earned that particular barb. Before he could formulate a decent reply, Bobbi came into the kitchen. As soon as she got inside his personal bubble, he could smell the warm scent of her hair and the jasmine body wash that used to make his senses fog (in the good way). She stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, but he didn’t look away from Jess, keeping a close eye on her hands. It was probably unnecessary to watch her so closely; they’d made up. She’d apologized for hitting him. 

Still, some instincts ran too deep to ignore.

“What’s going on in here?” Bobbi poured herself a cup of coffee, and Clint graciously took over making a fresh pot; he’d started the day with two, so it only seemed fair that he made certain there was enough to go around. “Clint have a new girlfriend?”

“ _Boyfriend_.” Jess spat the word. “At least, he’s taking a ride on the Alphabet Soup Bicycle. I’m guessing ‘Get It’ Coulson doesn’t give a shit where else Clint gets his dick wet. Match made in heaven.”

Okay, _that_ was going too far. Clint straightened up, feeling the last bits of his happy-morning mood shrivel away entirely. Before he could say anything at all, before he could defend Phil or himself, Bobbi patted his arm, distracting him.

“You look different.” Bobbi tipped her head to the side and smiled, soft and only a little sad. “Are you happy?”

“Yeah.” Clint feels his earlier smile creep back onto his face in stages, even though he couldn’t entirely shake the unease he always felt after a confrontation with Jess. “Yeah, I really am.” He carefully didn’t look at Jess as he said it, but he could see her from the corner of his eye, glaring at him, face twisted in an expression that looked half like anger and half like frustration. 

“It’s good. Easy.” Clint scratched the back of his neck, running his fingers through the short-ish hair at the base of his skull. Almost time for another haircut. “We just fit together.”

_So long as no one asks me how his dick fits, because I’m still not sure_ that\i> will ever happen.

Clint tried not to look like he was gloating; neither Bobbi nor Jess deserved to have it rubbed in their faces. Not their fault that they had both...expected too much. Clint had always tried, but living up to expectations wasn’t Clint’s strong suit, particularly when his partners thought he should know what was expected of him without being told. He found it much easier with Phil, who said what he meant and made certain Clint understood the meaning behind his words. And it wasn’t Bobbi or Jess’s fault that they hadn’t known that was the best way to deal with Clint’s issues– especially considering that Clint hadn’t known that was what he needed from a partner; it probably came from Clint’s lack of normalcy in childhood. He’d never gotten the usual lessons through puppy love and teenage heartbreaks like most people did. The power of hindsight made Clint feel wise and skilled in relationships in a way he never had before.

Bobbi studied his face for a long time, and then she smiled up at him before setting her cup on the countertop and reaching out to pull him into a hug.

“Good.” Her voice was muffled by his chest, but she sounded like she was still smiling, like she meant it. “I’m happy for you.”

Jess stomped out of the kitchen, and Clint sighed and finished off his mug. He felt bad that his happiness bothered her, but relationshipping was just _easier_ with Phil. Phil never left him guessing how much he mattered. He had never said anything to make Clint feel like he was somehow...less than. Instead of telling everyone else that they were just “having fun” or messing around, he told Clint he was important, that he was loved. It was hard to get used to, but Clint wanted to adapt, wanted to trust Phil’s feelings. And, with Phil’s constant assurances of Clint being strong and valuable, worthy of love and respect, then maybe Clint could learn to believe those things, too. It felt good, the critical, mean little voice in his head being replaced by Phil’s words of _good_ and _love_ and _I’m the luckiest man in the world._

Clint started to think that maybe he could learn to fight for that, for being the person that made Phil feel like he was so fortunate. He wasn’t sure he could maintain it for the long-term, but…well, relationships were never clear sailing. No matter how perfectly things seemed to be going, Clint knew he had a million ways he could screw it up; sometimes history repeated itself no matter how hard he fought against it.

The day things hit a bump, Clint was less shocked by the bump itself and more stunned to learn that relationship mistakes weren’t always all on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently business ownership is really time consuming. Whodda thunk. Heh. Anyway! I haven't abandoned anything, and I'm still trying to write and finish. One more chapter for these boys before they can find their happily ever after. But it's coming! I promise!


	5. Of Poodles and Poor Bastards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Life Lessons:   
>  1\. Coffee First  
>  2\. Relationship Discussions Second  
>  3\. Lucky has weird taste in butts to sniff.

Over the course of his dating history– up to and including his marriage– Clint didn’t make long-term plans. Hell, he tried not to make long term plans of any kind, relationship or otherwise. He always found it easier to take what he had, to enjoy what was right in front of him; it kept him from thinking about the day it might ( _Would_ , whispered that inner voice that he’d spent years trying to drown in sex and booze and arrows) all fall apart. And yet…with Phil, Clint found himself agreeing to anything Phil asked for in their future. He said yes to dinners the following week, concerts a month off, possible vacation destinations they could visit when they were both sent on mandatory stand-down at the end of the year. Clint began to look forward to the narrow margin of future he could suddenly glimpse.

Tentatively, he began to try his hand at making future plans for the two of them. He shyly asked Phil to come over for the Dog Cops midseason finale two whole weeks before it aired. He actually purchased the tickets for opening night of much-anticipated supernatural thriller before he slipped into Phil’s office to wave them around and asked Phil to join him– more than a _month_ before the premier. Phil had closed the door before he answered, and then Clint found himself as the one saying _Yes!_ when Phil slipped to his knees and sucked him off efficiently. Phil climbed to his feet, adjusted himself inside his slacks, kissed Clint’s lips softly, and thanked him for the thoughtful invite. Then he said he’d be thrilled to go, popped a breath mint into his mouth, and left for a meeting with Maria Hill.

It took Clint another five minutes to get his addled brain in order to zip up his pants. He tried to act casual as he strolled down the hall, toward his office to look up restaurants near the theater.

The more Clint settled into the relationship he shared with Phil, the more one aspect of their time together started to bother him. He still couldn’t quite manage to think of bottoming for Phil without his heart starting to pound (uncomfortably, not excitedly) and his hands starting to sweat. He couldn’t quite figure out when it had become a...a _phobia_ or something for him, but he found he couldn’t ever quite get the nerve to discuss the matter with Phil. 

Maybe he needed to do a dry run (so to speak) with his therapist, but he always forgot to bring it up when he was slouched into the squishy blue chair in her office, grinning stupidly while he assured her that yes, he was still with Phil and Phil was still fabulous and yeah, Clint was pretty sure he’d finally figured out what being in love was supposed to be like. He only thought about it when he was with Phil (in a sexual way). Or when he was alone and thinking of being with Phil (in a sexual way). Or when he woke up from very hot, very vivid dreams featuring Phil (in a _very_ sexual way). And okay, he could admit that he thought about it a lot. But, usually, he made himself stop thinking about it in order to keep his erection, er, erect.

It wasn’t that he felt anything particular was missing in their love-making. He loved the heated energy between them. He loved the playfulness that marked most of their sexual encounters. He found the few times they’d torn into one another, too long apart and too wound up to wait or draw it out, unspeakably hot. Phil knew how to angle every toy the exact right way to make Clint arch and cry out and plead for release, and Clint knew how to read every shiver or clench of Phil around him to milk out every drop of Phil’s pleasure. The sex was scorching and perfect and deeply, deeply satisfying. 

Really, the sex was the best part– after the part where they talked to each other for hours, seriously or less-so, about anything or nothing in particular. Well, and maybe after the part where Phil smiled every time he saw Clint, especially after they’d been apart for any time at all. Okay, and maybe the part where Phil was just _there_ for Clint, always ready with a hug or a touch or an understanding silence, a solid support against every little thing life threw at him. But the sex _was_ incredible. 

And yet…

Phil offered up his ass any time Clint suggested he might like it. Phil teased Clint’s ass with his mouth and his hands and their toys every time Clint wanted to feel full. And Clint...well, he felt like he was withholding something. Maybe not something _vital_ , but still a thing he knew Phil wanted. The worst of it was that Clint didn’t entirely get what his own problem was. The toys Phil used to fill him up and bring him off weren’t much smaller than Phil himself. Just...just a smidge smaller, and _that_ because Clint had insisted. Maybe he should have let Phil talk him into that one plug just one size larger. 

At the time, Clint had some romantic notion of the first thing _that_ big he ever wanted to take was Phil. 

Still. If he’d failed to take a toy, no one’s feelings would get hurt. If he tried to take Phil and failed, though...

He told himself firmly that he would bring it up with his therapist at their next appointment; he needed to get over himself and get past his weird little hangup about being penetrated by Phil’s cock, no matter how large and intimidating said cock was. Phil had assured him– just the one time and only after Clint had prodded him a bit ( _heh, prodded_ )– that there had been asses (and vaginas, and those had an ending point) that _had_ successfully taken him. 

And enjoyed it.

Clint was really hoping he’d enjoy it. If he ever got the nerve to try.

*****

They had an amazing weekend together after the late Thursday night/early Friday morning movie premier. The inaccuracies in the show’s space travel were minimal enough to keep from annoying Clint into sulking through the second half of the film, and Phil shared his popcorn, held Clint’s hand, and even groped him a couple of times under cover of darkness. They’d both scheduled Friday off, so they spent the morning holed up in Phil’s bed (doing unspeakably hot things to one another and giggling like teens at their first sexy sleepover), the afternoon walking Lucky through the park, and the evening bumping elbows and hips (and lips) as they cooked supper together. The warm, easy domesticity between them filled Clint’s heart with even more heat than Phil’s kisses put into his groin, and Clint again thought of Kate’s directive that he marry Phil.

It wasn’t time yet, not nearly long enough into their time together, because Clint was _determined_ to do it right. _If_ he proposed to Phil, and _if_ Phil accepted, Clint was going to make it to forever with him. It was worth taking a little time to set up a happily ever after.

Friday night, Phil rimmed Clint to hell and back and then fucked him enthusiastically with an almost-too-powerful vibrator until Clint arched off the bed and came all over his own belly and Phil’s face without a touch to his dick. As soon as he caught his breath, Clint lubed up his inner thighs to make a slick, tight tunnel for Phil to fuck into while he bit Clint’s neck and swore inelegantly until he shivered and shook and came all over Clint’s still-sensitive hole. When Phil rolled Clint onto his stomach to smear his thumb all over the mess of Clint’s ass, Clint tried to force himself to open his mouth and promise that Phil could get all the way inside him the next time.

His mouth would _not_ cooperate. 

Saturday was another pleasant day. They had breakfast out and shopped for groceries. Most of the late morning was taken up with a ride in Lola (Lucky, half on the floorboard, half in Clint’s lap, enjoyed every moment of it). They shared sandwiches for lunch on Phil’s couch, and then ate supper at a nice restaurant. Clint forgot to feel self-conscious, so charmed by Phil’s stories. Phil had him laughing over an anecdote involving Agent Blake and Phil back during their academy day when the waiter brought supper, and Clint didn’t even mind when he snorted. Like a pig. That was when Phil lost it and had to put his head on the table for a moment. Their perfect day ended with Clint getting to fuck Phil on the couch. Phil bribed his doorman to not _only_ pretend he didn’t know Lucky was staying in the building for the weekend, but also to give him his evening walkies, and Clint used the half hour wisely. Vigorously. Enthusiastically. 

Somehow Phil still ended up being the one to find pants to let Lucky back in when the doorman rang. Clint would have resented the smugness Phil brought back with the dog, but smug was such a charming expression on Phil’s handsome face.

Clint spent the night in a warm cocoon of blankets, snoring dog, and the muscular arms of a snoring man. He woke up three times– once to pee, once to heft half the dog off his groin, and once to turn into Phil’s embrace and kiss his neck– and each time he was grateful for the company of the man he loved and the dog he couldn’t bear to be without. For a few hours at least, Clint Barton, trailer trash, circus waif, clueless Avenger, thought his life might actually be perfect.

Unfortunately, Sunday challenged that idea.

It was pushing noon on Sunday when Clint finally managed to drag himself away from Phil’s kisses and light, soft touches. Phil hadn’t gotten himself together enough to crawl out of bed, and Lucky had taken full advantage of his pre-coffee inertia to drape over Phil’s furry chest and go back to sleep. He’d been exceptionally annoyed when Clint had shoved him off the bed in order to make use of Phil’s morning wood (early morning blowjobs were one of Clint’s specialties). Clint resented both of them as he started digging through the bedroom, trying to find his last clean pair of underpants. He _knew_ he’d packed them in his bag, and he only hoped that Lucky hadn’t decided they looked like a good chew toy; Clint refused to think about the fact that Lucky seemed to only chew on dirty underwear. 

Dogs were gross.

“Did you see where I left my boots?” Clint put both hands on hips, glaring around the room. How the _fuck_ had all of his belongings gone missing in less than three days? Phil’s place wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t really messy enough for boots to just magically vanish. At Clint’s place, he’d at least have some kind of clue about where to begin hunting things down. 

He’d also have access to his underwear drawer so one missing pair wouldn’t matter so much.

“Have you tried under the bed?” Phil shuffled Lucky off of his chest, rolled to his side, cheek propped on his fist, and smiled, crooked and content. Clint was torn between rolling his eyes at Phil’s refusal to get out of bed and help and an overwhelming desire to climb right back into the bed and stay put for the rest of the day.

Maybe even the rest of his life.

If he hadn’t promised to check on a few small maintenance issues around his building, he’d have gone for the latter. Since he _had_ promised, though, he went with the eyeroll and ducked down to look under the edge of Phil’s tailored blue dust ruffle. The instant he bent fully double, ass in the air, Phil reached out and pressed the tip of one finger against Clint’s hole. Clint’s knees buckled and he nearly brained himself on the nightstand as he collapsed.

“That is _so_ unfair, you bastard.” Clint got to his knees to glare at Phil over the edge of the bed, but Phil just laughed, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Not my fault I have a...slight fixation...on certain portions of your anatomy.”

“Oh really?” Clint raised an eyebrow. “Then whose fault is it?”

“Clearly yours.” Phil leaned forward to take Clint’s face in his hands. He kissed him gently. “Gorgeous ass. I love the way it feels, the way it tastes, the way you take everything I put in there.”

“Yeah, well, leave it alone.” Clint would later admit he was far too snappish for someone who’d had a perfect weekend with a perfect guy. He shook Phil’s grip off of his face and grabbed the boots he’d barely gotten a glimpse of before he’d toppled over. “I have to get home and get shit done so I can find my damn _suit_ for tomorrow morning.”

Phil blinked once, then flushed pink from his chest to his scalp. 

“I’m sorry.” He stretched onto his back and curled his fingers back into Lucky’s shaggy fur. “I know, it’s…” He sighed and shook his head. “When we...when you...when you live with me, there won’t be any of the packing up and leaving on Sundays. Lazy Sunday afternoons on the couch, leftovers for supper. I’ll cook you a hot breakfast on Monday mornings, so you can start the week off right.”

“Wait, _what?_ ” Clint fumbled his boots, spine stiffening. “Why would I move in with you? Did we talk about this already?”

“No, but I thought...” Phil sat up, suddenly looking a lot less content and a lot more confused. “I mean, isn’t that where we’re heading? Why wouldn’t we– wouldn’t you?”

Clint scooped up his t-shirt and pulled it over his head, giving himself a second to think away from Phil’s pleading eyes. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about living together, over the course of the weekend, he’d found himself thinking of little else (except for “Yes, please” and “More” at appropriate intervals). He _did_ wonder if he’d said or done something in passing that had made Phil think he would move out of his building. 

Oh, he’d pictured what it would be like to dress with Phil in the morning, to watch him go from casual, at-home Phil to perfectly polished Coulson. Of _course_ he had imagined, a little wistfully, what it would be like to ride in for work with his bow on one side and his boyfriend on the other. He’d have been an idiot not to have thought about what it could be like, living with Phil. But his people! His _dog!_ Phil’s place was nice enough and all (and had a Phil– definite note in its favor), but...Clint’s _life_!

Asking him to give up all of _that_ was too much. 

He gave up on finding his underpants and pulled his jeans over his bare ass, risking a quick glance over at Phil. Phil had gathered the blankets more securely around his waist, and his expression hadn’t shifted away from hurt. Lucky had abandoned him, slinking to the floor, eyes on Clint like he could read all the whirling thoughts in his head. He whimpered softly, and Clint patted his head, suddenly aware that choosing between his boyfriend and his dog was truly outside his abilities. 

“I can’t move in with you.” Clint tugged at the hem of his shirt, kinda hating himself for having to say it when Phil flinched. “Just...Phil. I _can’t_.”

“Oh.” Phil rolled to his feet and started digging through his top dresser drawer, shoulders tight and spine stiff. “Well. I guess _that’s_ good to know.”

“No, Phil, wait…” Clint pulled his socks out of his duffle and sat down on the edge of the bed. Lucky whined and leaned against his shins. “It’s just...my life. I can’t...it’s, you know. My life. And your life is…”

Phil slammed the drawer shut and opened the one beside it. Clint watched him, feeling helpless, and then Phil grabbed a pair of boxers and spun around, fists slapping on his hips. 

“So what the fuck are we doing?” Phil sounded angry; he was probably glaring. 

Clint should look up and check. If only he could look away from the place where Phil’s dick swung between his thighs. His beautiful, muscular, wonderful thighs. Nice dick, too. Still long, even soft, still thick. Clint suddenly wanted to lick it, and he couldn’t tell if the urge was because it looked tasty or because he _really_ wanted to avoid the looming fight. 

“Seriously, Clint. I _told_ you that I was in this for real. I haven’t been the slightest bit shy about wanting to move things forward. So,” Phil stepped closer, and Clint was kinda relieved that the boxers flipped over to give Phil a modicum of decency (and Clint a modicum of sanity), “what the fuck are we doing?”

“Um, dating?” Clint shrugged, and Lucky leaned harder against him, cowering as Phil’s volume went up. “Going out? Having a good time? Being–”

Phil cut him off.

“A _good time?_ ” Phil’s face flashed red as he raised his voice, the angry glow spreading quickly down his neck and across his chest. 

“Well...yeah?” It came out more hesitant than Clint meant it to. He _was_ enjoying himself. Having fun. _So_ much fun! He’d never enjoyed being around anyone as much as he did Phil. None of his previous partners had seemed to like having Clint around by the time they were more than a few months into things. But Phil still smiled at Clint just the same, still kissed him and held him and laughed with him just the way he had at the beginning. Clint had no reason to believe that Phil wasn’t having a good time any more. 

Phil’s furious flush and curling lip were starting to make Clint reconsider that.

Lucky looked from one of them to the other, whining just a little bit. Clint patted his shoulder and wished he could whine, too, just to relieve his feelings. Phil’s flashing eyes and set jaw were gorgeous in his anger, but Clint didn’t think the observation would go over well. He pulled on his socks and stuck one foot in a boot, watching his own hands tie the laces like it was the most important, most difficult task he’d ever attempted. 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, not certain what he’d done wrong, but trying his best to make up for it.

“Yeah,” Phil snapped. “Me too.”

Clint cringed, feeling a tremble start in his hands. His brain fizzed a little around the edges, and Clint tried his best to keep his brain from shutting down. Anger directed his way left him all kinds of off-kilter. 

“Babe,” he whispered a little helplessly. “Come on, don’t be…”

“Don’t be _what_ , Clint?” Phil finally looked away long enough to pull on his boxers. “ _You’re_ the one who...who said...who isn’t…”

He scrubbed his hands over his face, then folded his arms across his chest. The tension in his body made all of his muscles ripple, spread his broad shoulders broader. Clint wished he could tell Phil how hot he was like that, but even he could tell it still wasn’t the time. He _also_ wished he knew what he’d done wrong, but this probably wasn’t the best time to ask that question. Maybe later, when Phil’d cooled off. Clint could apologize for making him mad, for screwing up, and then they’d be okay again. And _then_ came the make-up sex. 

Make-up sex had always been one of Clint’s strong suits. Maybe he could fuck Phil into overlooking his idiocy.

“Get out.” 

_That_ got Clint’s attention away from all thoughts of Phil’s dick: sucking or being fucked by. His stomach sank, and a familiar buzzing started up in his ears. His hands shook, and he was pretty certain that had never happened before. Even when...even when other people hadn’t wanted him, had changed their mind about loving him. Even when it was over.

“Phil. Babe, I–”

“Get. Out.” Phil’s jaw was set in a hard line, the muscle ticking below his ear. His eyes were dark and flinty. He bunched his shoulders threateningly, and Clint pulled his own shoulders down, trying to make himself smaller. He reached out to bury his fingers in Lucky’s thick ruff, looking down so he didn’t have to see the fury in Phil’s eyes. The rejection in the thinness of his lips, the scowl on his brow.

“Okay.” Clint tried to get enough air in to add some volume, but his voice would _not_ rise above a whisper.. “Okay. Phil, I’ll...just...But....” He swallowed hard, closing his eyes against the burning prickle of tears that welled up. “Please.” It was nearly inaudible, even to Clint. Lucky whined and turned to tuck his face into Clint’s lap. 

“Get–” The word ended on a strangled waver, and Clint looked up quickly, hoping for some sign Phil was softening. 

“Ph–” Clint began, but Phil cleared his throat and interrupted.

“You need to go, Clint.” His lips twitched like he wanted to say more, and Clint imagined, just for a moment, that he could see something hurt in Phil’s bright eyes. His lids were red, and there was the slightest hint of pink to his nose, like he might have tears lurking behind his stoic exterior.

Clint wished he knew what to say, but he was afraid of saying the _wrong_ something and making Phil’s slowly crumbling facade of calm shatter into more yelling. He looped his fingers through Lucky’s collar and pushed himself slowly to his feet, watching the toes of his boots. 

“Yeah, I’m...we’re...Okay.” He took one more look at Phil’s set jaw and pinched lips and ducked his head, leaning over awkwardly to lead Lucky to the door. He collected his go-bag from just inside the bedroom and ducked into the hall. At the entry, he clipped Lucky’s leash to his collar and straightened up. He turned back once to find Phil standing just behind him. “I’ll...I’ll see you, B–Phil.”

“I expect so.” Phil’s voice was flat, cold. Clint wondered for one wild second if he’d always imagined all the warmth and playfulness they’d always shared, and then Phil’s hand reached out. Clint caught his breath. Phil’s hand fell back to his side, and Clint turned away to open the door and walk out of Phil’s apartment and out of the relationship he’d just begun to plan a future around.

*****

Clint left Phil’s building in a state of numbness. He couldn’t feel his nose or his fingers, and he wasn’t sure how he managed to keep a grip on Lucky’s leash. Not that Lucky tried to pull away; he limped along beside Clint, crowding close to his master’s legs, tail down and ears pressed flat to his head. Clint watched him, wished he could reach down to pat him and offer some kind of comfort, but all he could focus on was putting one boot in front of the other and trying to keep his breathing steady.

Two blocks from home, the empty tingling in his hands and brain vanished to be replaced by a blaze of furious anger. How _dare_ Phil pitch him out like that! All Clint had done was say that he couldn’t move into Phil’s place. He was absolutely _positive_ that he’d never given Phil a single reason to think that he would leave his building. He certainly knew he wouldn’t leave his dog, and, since taking in the dog was a thing Phil had admired, he couldn’t imagine why Phil would think it remotely possible.

Clint had given Phil everything he’d asked for: he’d gone to every restaurant Phil had made reservations at; eaten every scone sent his way; taken Phil home when Phil had suggested it; gone back to Phil’s when Phil had decided that was better. Clint had done his absolute level best to be the perfect boyfriend, going so far as to let Kate dress him so he could match Phil’s class and style. And now, with _one thing_ that Clint just _couldn’t_ do, Phil hadn’t even let him explain, hadn’t let him counter. Phil had just thrown the idea out there and then thrown out Clint when he couldn’t go along with it.

Fuck Phil Fucking Coulson, anyway. Acting like Clint belonged to him, and then looking sad when Clint had taken Lucky home. If Lucky meant so damned much to him, Phil wouldn’t have bothered suggesting Clint move into a building that didn’t allow dogs! Clint stomped up the stairs to his apartment, going inside only long enough to fling his go-bag and his bow case down on the couch and change into sweatpants and a pair of running shoes. Every muscle in his body screamed with a need for motion, and he whistled for Lucky to follow him. He needed a good long run and then he’d go home, crack open that new bottle of Jack in the back of his cupboard, and get started on getting over Phil.

On the way to the ground floor, Clint passed the lightbulb that he’d replaced a week or two before, standing on Phil’s shoulders as they shook and shifted with Phil’s attempts to stifle his laughter. He passed the new lock on the door that had been Simone’s, and his fingers felt the phantom touch of Phil’s as he helped Clint set the screws. He passed Mrs. Karpatski’s door, and remembered the way Phil’s eyes had _glowed_ when the elderly woman called him Clint’s _young man_. 

Lucky whined and leaned against Clint’s leg, and Clint realized he’d been standing still, staring at nothing in particular for too long. 

“Come on, Lucks.” Clint patted his golden head. “Let’s go run.”

As soon as they got to the street, Lucky crowded close to Clint’s side instead of heading for the hydrant to check for messages. He licked Clint’s fingers and squinted up with his one good eye and made little worried noises in his throat. 

“I know you liked him.” Clint scritched his ear. “Like him. I did to. I _still_ do, if you want the truth. He’s been...he’s been good. To both of us.”

Clint gave Lucky’s lead a gentle tug and set off toward the park at an easy job. Lucky kept pace with him, glancing up at Clint’s face and offering half-hearted, confused little wags like thought maybe they were going to find Phil. And of course the dog wanted Phil. Phil never did show up at Clint’s without a dog treat. He’d bribed his own doorman to look the other way when Clint and Lucky spent the night. He’d been...he’d been _wonderful_ with Clint’s scruffy dog, and Clint had almost started thinking of Lucky as “ours” instead of “mine.” Lucky had even, more than once, climbed up on Phil’s side of the bed, head resting on Phil’s thigh while his tail thumped out a happy tattoo that had gotten steadily slower until he’d gone to sleep.

Clint understood; if he’d had a tail, he’d have wagged it for Phil, too.

“Thing is…” Clint leaned against the back of a bench, catching his breath, while Lucky found a likely patch of grass to do his thing. “Thing is, I _do_ want to live with him, ya know? Just...just not _there_. I can’t leave the building. Not even for Phil. But I don’t...I don’t want it to be over.”

Lucky finished what he was doing and turned to Clint, tail waving, with a bright bark.

“But I don’t know how to fix it.”

Lucky barked again, glanced at the pile of poo with an expression of doggly disgust, and kicked imaginary dirt over it and Clint’s shoes.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m getting it.”

Clint cleaned up the mess, dropped it in a nearby trashcan, and then stood frozen in the middle of the path. He needed help, but he didn’t know who to call. Natasha had no idea how to talk about emotional things; she’d tell him to tell him to fix his own shit. Kate was wise beyond her years, but she was still a kid; what did _she_ know about possibly life-long relationships? Bobbi was good at problem-solving, but she was both Clint’s ex (and it seemed mean to ask her how to get another spouse) and had very different ideas about what constituted a _good_ relationship. Tony and Cap and Logan were all out of the question.

Obviously.

In fact...in fact, the only person Clint knew how to talk to about relationship kind of things, _feelings_ kind of things, was Phillip Coulson, himself. If Clint wanted advice, he’d have to beard the lion in his den, or words to that effect. 

“Guess we’re going back,” he said slowly. Lucky tipped his head and lifted one ear, clearly trying to understand. “I _have_ to see Phil.”

Lucky’s tail went into overdrive, and Clint patted his head.

“Yeah, you’re coming with me.” Clint opened the door to his building and started up the steps. “If I take you with me, he’ll probably at least let us in. Maybe if I pack us both up for morning, we can even spend the night. I know I’m gonna want to be there after we make up.”

Lucky gave him a look– head to one side, skepticism written bold in his eye and the scrunch of his eyebrows.

“Don’t give me that look.” Clint ruffled his ears before unlocking their front door. “You _know_ I’m better with my body than I am with words.”

*****

“Phil. I brought Lucky back.” Clint folded his arms over his chest and glared at the sportcoat he’d laid neatly on the sofa. It was Phil’s jacket, the one he’d left after their second date. Clint had considered putting the shirt and the slacks out with it, but he figured that was going a bit too far. “You were a dick to us. Now you have to fix it.”

No. Probably a little too hostile. Maybe a lot too hostile Especially with the arms and the glare. He shook out his hands and stuffed them in his pockets and looked at the sportcoat. Then he went and got the shirt and slacks and picked up a pair of his own dress shoes. The shirt kept sliding down the satin lining of the coat, so Clint went back up to his loft for a pillow. When it was dressed and propped, Clint shoved his hands back in his pockets and tried again.

“Hi Phil. I brought Lucky back. He was...he was worried about you.” Clint pulled his arms out of his pockets and linked his fingers behind his back. “I didn’t mean to make you mad, so please, baby–” He avoided making eye contact with the suit, er, with the person the suit was meant to represent. “Please take me back. Just...just tell me what I did wrong, and I promise I won’t do it again.”

_Entirely_ the wrong approach. That was the opening he’d have used with Jess. Or Bobbi. Or anyone he’d dated before Phil, before Phil taught him how nice it was to say what he was thinking and trust that his partner would listen. He shook his hands out again, keeping them at his side, and tried again.

“Hey, Phil. I brought Lucky back because I need to talk to you about something. So there’s a problem that I don’t know how to fix, and I wondered if you’d help me figure out the answer, because I have no idea what I’m doing, and somehow we seemed to get way off track this morning, but I really don’t want us to be broken up yet. Or, ya know, ever.”

Really no. Phil would probably dump Clint back out the door– physically– before he ever got near the point. His opening needed to be shorter, more concise. He had to be able to get all of the words out before Phil used his amazing ninja skills and threw Clint _and_ Lucky down the stairs. He sucked in a hard breath and tried again.

“Hi, Phil. I brought Lucky back. He loves you and I love you. Don’t dump me over the dog. I thought you loved him. And me. So we’re both here to beg you to take us back.”

It had the advantage of honesty, but it was far too desperate for Clint’s personal pride. He didn’t have much of that, so he felt he should cling to the shreds he still had. Besides, if Phil was interested in desperation, there were at least four Alphabet Agencies he could choose from to warm his bed. 

“Hello, Phil. Lucky missed you.” Clint cringed and kept going. “I mean, I missed you, too. Not like, missed-missed, because it was just this morning. But I miss thinking about us as an _us_. Already. So let’s fix it.”

Closer. Honest, but not too desperate. Still too wordy.

“Hello, Phil. Lucky and I didn’t like how we left this morning.” He gave the space above the suit jacket a hopeful-feeling smile. “I love you, and Lucky loves you, and we both really want to fix this. But I need your help to figure it out, because I’m pretty dumb at the fixing things part of relationships.”

There. Perfect. Now all he had to do was memorize the words so he wouldn’t forget them when he found himself confronted with Phil’s beautiful blue eyes.

“Hello, Phil. Luck and I love you and we want to fix this. I need your help, though, ‘cause I’m not...I’m pretty dumb when it comes to fixing things. In relationships, I mean.”

Clint shook his shoulders out, popped his neck and repeated the high points, _love you_ and _want to fix it_ and _need your help_. He finally decided he had it down well enough that, even if he stumbled a little, he’d still be able to get enough out for Phil to get the jist. Lucky carried his leash over to drop at Clint’s feet, and Clint scratched his head.

“Yeah, yeah.” He dropped to his knees, looping one arm over Lucky’s neck and looking up at the effigy of Phil ( _ePhilgy?_ ) on the couch. “I think we’re about ready. How’s this sound?”

He stood up, holding the end of Lucky’s leash and imagined Phil’s warm, serious eyes (matching the dark blue shirt, no less) and the delicious, razor-thin edge of his top lip. 

“Hi, Ph–fuck!” 

A sharp knock on the door startled Lucky into a bark that sounded like an echo of Clint’s explicative. Clint wrinkled his nose, thinking, wondering if he dared let one of his neighbors see exactly how much of a sad sack he was without the real Phil around. Then he glanced at the lock and wondered if it was Kate, pretending to have manners again. He didn’t _dare_ let her see that he’d dressed up his pillow in Phil’s clothing. She would intentionally take it wrong and never let him live it down. Clint hurried across the room, jumping when the knock came again, harder and faster than the first time.

“Hang on, for fff-Phil!”

And then Clint’s brain went offline for a moment.

Phil, being Phil at his Phil-est, waited patiently until Clint’s brain reengaged. Clint, being Hawkeye, noted that Phil looked a bit red around the eyes and possibly a bit puffy on the nose. They stared at one another without speaking, and then Phil lifted one hand and gestured vaguely toward Clint.

“May I, er, come in?”

Clint nearly nodded, but his brain threw up a brilliant, screaming warning, and he managed to stay frozen a second longer. He had a vision of Phil walking in, seeing Clint’s pillow, neatly dressed in Phil’s date night clothing, sitting on his couch. He could clearly picture the sideways glance Phil would give him and the way he would mumble _nevermindsorrytohavebotheredyou_ and how quickly he would run for the door.

“Er, I would but...but…” Clint took a deep breath and reached deep, trying to remember his prepared speech. “Hi, Phil. Lucky, um, he...Lucky needs to go out.”

Lucky’s tail began to beat frantically at the side of Clint’s knee, and he barked out his excitement at the idea of taking a second walk. 

“He’s on his leash, and…” Clint leaned down, keeping one knee braced behind his door to keep it from swinging open wide enough for Phil to see in. Thankfully, Phil seemed more focused on Clint and/or Lucky than anything going on further into the apartment. Clint’s fingers closed around the leash, and he and Lucky edged through the narrowest opening Clint had fit through in several years. Apparently fear was an effective shoulder-shrinker. He’d have to let Cap and Tony know about his discovery. “You’re, er, welcome to come with us.”

Phil licked his lips, opened his mouth like he was ready to say something, then snapped his teeth together and simply nodded. Clint couldn’t help but notice that Phil still hadn’t actually looked him in the eye. Possibly still pissed off then. Clint spent the time it took to walk down to street level, trying to figure out a new way to begin the conversation. Apologizing seemed harder when the other party made the first move, which seemed backward from what all the books and movies showed.

Clint had never before felt the lack of emotional education in his adolescent years quite so sharply. He hoped he could figure out how to start the conversation soon, though, since Lucky wasn’t likely to _actually_ poop again any time soon. Phil would probably realize that Clint had lied about Lucky’s bathroom needs by the second or third mile of walkies.

Four miles out, Clint still hadn’t come up with any words to say, and Phil, aside from occasional murmurs of _Good boy_ when Lucky licked his fingers, hadn’t spoken, either. Their hands bumped as they navigated through a crowd, and Clint flinched away. Phil’s face paled, and Clint bit down an apology. _He_ hadn’t been the one who’d flown off the handle, but damned if he could figure out a way to say so that didn’t make sound like an insult toward Phil. Hey, Clint _understood_ flying off the handle. Hell, he’d practically grown up off the handle. He just needed to tell Phil that getting upset was okay, but being an ass was not.

Clint felt old and wise for all of three feet, and then Lucky looped around him, trying to sniff the backside of a nervous, over-clipped, white poodle with bright pink toenails and lopsided pink bows on her ears. For one second, the picture of the battered mutt and the prissy, pedigreed pooch was absolutely adorable, and then Clint tried to take another step, found his knees tied tightly together, and fell into Phil’s chest with a startled squeak. Phil wrapped his arms around Clint’s waist, stumbling a bit under his weight. The hitch of breath from Phil's throat dragged Clint's arms around Phil's sides, almost without his conscious direction, to pull their bodies closer together. Phil was hot against him, skin dewed with sweat from the absurdly fast pace of their evening stroll. His t-shirt bunched under Clint’s hands, and Clint felt the smooth, skin of Phil's lower back against the tips of his pinkies.

“Clint, I’m–” 

Whatever Phil had been about to say faded into a quiet, relieved-sounding sigh as Clint tipped his head and leaned forward to press his lips over Phil’s. Street sounds faded away into static, possible threats from Russian mobsters, the villain of the week, or even their own teammates and coworkers were completely forgotten as Phil’s hands clutched tightly into the muscles of Clint’s back. Somewhere very nearby, a dog barked, and Clint felt vaguely certain he should know what that bark meant. A vague sense that the bark was meant to hurry him along.

“I’m sorry about...about this morning.” Phil mumbled the words against Clint’s mouth. “I shouldn’t have...I should have let you...I didn’t mean to–”

Clint cut him off with another kiss.

“Okay.” He pulled away from Phil’s mouth and looked deeply into Phil’s bright blue eyes. “Apology accepted. But–” He interrupted himself by kissing Phil again. Phil’s lips tasted like relief to Clint. Water after a run. Coffee after a too-early alarm. He forgot that he’d begun a sentence. 

“But what?” Phil pulled away just far enough to ask, forehead still leaning against Clint’s, eyes still closed. 

“But...But we should probably talk about it.” Clint looked down when Phil’s eyelashes fluttered before he opened his eyes. “I mean, about how we...about what went wrong.”

“Clint,” Phil’s voice was soft and urgent. “B-babe. Hey. Look at me.”

Clint forced his eyes away from the toes of his shoes and met Phil’s eyes.

“I know what went wrong. I..I presumed too much. Pushed too hard. Made...made assumptions. And then I flew off the handle when you–” Phil gulped hard– “when you rightly let me know I’d gone too far.”

“Oh.” Clint replayed the morning in his head for about the millionth time since he’d left Phil’s building. No, Phil’s interpretation didn’t quite line up with how he’d seen it, but he _could_ see where Phil was coming from. Kinda. “I didn’t really mind...You weren’t...It wasn’t like that.”

Phil froze, eyes suddenly going wide and a little panicked. 

“Um. It wasn’t?” His voice had climbed half a register, and Clint couldn’t hold down a snicker. He had a sudden vision of how Phil must’ve looked fifteen years before, going through puberty and discovering sex.

“It was just...Phil. I _can’t_ give up Lucky.” Clint reached down to trail his fingers along the ridge of Lucky’s skull. “That’s the biggest problem here. I can’t move into your place. I mean, I _wish_ I could. I’d love to see you every morning, but my building… And your place doesn’t allow dogs.”

“Give up _Lucky_?” Phil squeaked again, and Lucky barked, clearly alarmed. “I’d _never_ ask you to– my _God_ , Clint! He’s a part of you! I...I can’t imagine you without him!”

They stood there, both of them staring dumbly at one another. Someone bumped into Clint’s shoulder, and Phil’s hand reached toward his own ribs where he didn’t have a gun.

“I think,” Clint said faintly, wondering when the sidewalk had turned into a floating dock under his boots, “I think we should maybe go back to my place. It’s a little more secure and we can...we can figure out what the _hell_ is going on here.”

Phil nodded, silent and pale, and Clint leaned forward to catch his face in both hands, kissing his mouth softly.

“Get a room!!” someone snapped at them, and Clint flipped him off without pulling out of the kiss. 

After a few more minutes, just enough time to settle the whirl between Clint's ears and the raise the pace of his heartbeat, Clint pulled back and linked his fingers with Phil’s. He gathered up Lucky's leash and turned back toward an alley and a shortcut home.

*****

“Lucky doesn’t like going up this way.” Clint panted under the weight of jumpy, wiggling dog as he neared the window that Phil already had open. “‘Ts like he doesn’t trust me to keep my building up to code or something.”

Phil reached out to take Lucky from Clint’s arms and eased him through the window. 

“I’ve had this thing inspected twice since I bought the place though,” Clint said as he climbed in after them, “so it should be–Phil?”

Phil had dropped Lucky– actually _dropped_ him– and stood frozen just inside the window. Clint had to press against his back to get all the way into the apartment.

“What...what’s that?” Phil lifted one arm, hand shaking, and pointed at the Phil-alike pillow on Clint’s couch.

“I was...I was…” Clint reached up to scratch the back of his neck, edging around Phil to try to block the view. “I kinda lied to you.”

Phil’s eyebrows climbed more than halfway up his forehead, and Clint was sharply reminded of Mrs. Natsisky who ran the bodega around the corner. She’d shaved her eyebrows off at some point and then spent three weeks painting them higher and higher every day. Her granddaughter had gotten hold of her and her eyebrow pencil and fixed them before they’d _actually_ made contact with her widow’s peak. 

“Okayyy…” Phil’s eyebrows hadn’t come down any. “About what?”

“I wasn’t taking Lucky out when you got here.” Clint slumped his shoulders down, trying to look smaller. “I was taking him to you. To talk to you. I wanted...I wanted to fix things, but I didn’t know how and you are the only person I’ve ever been able to talk to about relationship shit. I didn’t want you to see that, um, that I was being kinda creepy with your clothes. I was just practicing what to say to you. How to tell you...how to tell you I still love you.”

Phil looked down, his lashes fanning over his cheeks, and Clint felt his heart stop. It hadn’t felt creepy at the time, not at first. Not until Phil had shown up at the door. Clint felt his world start to crumble around the edges then, and he gave Phil’s freckled cheeks and sharp-edged lips one last wistful look. Before he could open his mouth to apologize and say that he understood Phil wanting to get away, Phil looked up, his eyes widening, and the corners of his mouth slowly curling up. There was glow to him, something shining and brilliant, and Clint found he liked _that_ smile even more than Phil’s smilette. 

“You...you _practiced_?” Phil’s smile, somehow, against all probability, warmed further, and Clint started to feel hot under the collar. Or in his pants. Either way…

“‘Course I did.” Clint licked his lips and considered reaching out for Phil. He didn’t; wasn’t sure they were that far along toward normal yet. “It was… _You are_ important.”

A scarlet blaze flashed over Phil’s face, and his smile warmed further still. He reached out for Clint, drawing him in for a kiss that stole the breath from Clint’s lungs and the strength from his legs. Clint clutched Phil’s broad shoulders for support, trembling between arousal and relief, and he broke the kiss quickly to gasp for air.

“Are we okay?” he asked, voice gone rough and thick. It took effort to get his still-tingling lips and tongue to shape the words. “I mean, after everything this morning, I just...you gotta tell me, babe. Are we okay?”

Phil pulled Clint in more tightly to his chest, arms gentle and cradling.

“Of course, Clint.” He pressed his face into the crook of Clint’s neck and snuffled. “I’m...I’m so sorry, babe. I never should’ve sent you away. I shouldn’t have...I shouldn’t have flown off the handle like that. It’s just...I guess my insecurities got the best of me.”

Clint hugged Phil hard. He had a hard time seeing Phil as insecure, but he could entirely understand how those feelings could make someone act irrationally. Hell, he’d practically written the instruction book on how to lose his shit because of the mess inside his head. 

“Okay.” Clint kissed Phil’s temple and his earlobe and his neck. “Okay then.” He inhaled a deep breath of Phil’s warm skin and then heard his own voice say the words he had been wishing he’d been brave enough to say for several weeks.

“In that case, I really think this would be a good time for you to fuck my ass.”


	6. Hole In One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Say it again.”
> 
> “I want you, Phillip Coulson, to bend me over and pound my ass until all I can do is scream your name.”
> 
> (that is, an entire chapter of porn. And feels. And Pheels. And feeling. And being felt. And...well, you get it)

“Phil?”

No response. Clint was horribly afraid that, somehow, by asking Phil to fuck him, he’d broken his boyfriend. He pushed his nose more firmly to the side of Phil’s neck, inhaling the scent of skin and clean sweat and the sandalwood bodywash Phil favored. 

“Phil?” Clint tried again, lifting his face away from Phil’s neck to look at his face. Phil’s eyes were glazed, staring straight across Clint’s apartment, clearly not seeing anything. “Babe?”

Phil blinked, hard. Then he blinked again and shifted all his focus to Clint’s mouth, his eyes blazing.

“Say it again.”

“I want you, Phillip Coulson, to bend me over and pound my ass until all I can do is scream your name.” Clint smoothed his palms down the front of Phil’s t-shirt, fingertips tracing the swell of pectorals and the rippling muscles over his ribs. “I want to feel you so deep in me, further than anyone else has _ever_ been. Wanna feel like you’re splitting me open. Want you to take me apart.”

Phil growled, a sexy little purr of sound from deep in his chest, and heaved Clint into a domineering kiss. Clint opened to him, letting his knees buckle a little at the jolt of pleasure he got from Phil taking control. Phil’s arms, strong and thick and trembling only a little, wrapped him up tightly, holding him up. 

“You’re not just...this isn’t some kind of quid pro quo for...It’s not because of the fight, is it?” Phil broke away, resting his forehead against Clint’s temple and panting hotly across his face. “Because I don’t want...I only want to if _you_ want to.”

“Baby,” Clint stared deeply into the blurred blue of Phil’s eyes and he brushed the tip of his nose against Phil’s, “I want it so bad I can taste it. Would like to taste it. Um, from the other side. You know, because it’s so deep I can–”

Phil interrupted him with a hard kiss; Clint gratefully let him. If Clint’s mouth was busy with Phil’s mouth, it couldn’t get up to any more awkward babbling. Phil broke the kiss with a happy smile, and Clint, his mouth free from the constraint of Phil’s tongue and lips, revved back into high gear.

“Can we _please_ go get on my bed, or else get naked and go for it right here?” Clint jerked out of Phil’s arms and tugged at the bottom hem of his shirt. “I mean, I’d really like it before I’m, ya know, too old or too tired or–” Clint jumped when Lucky licked at his fingers. “Okay, no, bed. It’s got to be the bed. I don’t think I could, um, relax. With the dog. With Lucky. Watching! I mean, relax if the dog is watching. And I think relaxing would probably make the whole thing easier. Make the hole thing easier?”

What the fuck was spilling out of his mouth and why wouldn’t it stop?

Phil collected Clint’s hands in his own, pulling them up to where he could press one warm kiss onto a scar across his knuckles. 

“You spelled that h-o-l-e in your head, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question; Clint mustered a pained-feeling smile in reply. “My _God_ , I love you.” Phil pressed a kiss to another knuckle. “I can’t believe I nearly fucked this up. Clint, I–”

Clint shook one hand loose to press his fingers to Phil’s lips.

“Stop.”

Phil closed his mouth so quickly his teeth clicked together, some of his panic from before their walk reforming on his face. Clint quickly cupped his cheek and leaned across their joined hands to kiss him softly.

“I am _not_ in a headspace to have this conversation yet.” He kissed Phil again to keep him from saying anything. “I know we need to talk, but not yet, okay. Just answer three questions for me.” 

Phil’s lips twitched in a little laugh. "He who wants to bone the Clint must answer me these questions three, 'ere the naked dick he see."

Clint tried to look unimpressed, but he couldn’t hold back an undignified giggle. 

“Phil!” He choked back another giggle and tried his best to look put-upon. Phil just kissed the tip of his nose. 

“Sorry.” Phil took a deep breath and pasted on his blandest agent expression. Clint would never be able to look at him in the halls of SHIELD the same way again; he’d be forever waiting for Phil to pop off with some joke about sex or some indication that he was about to pound Clint through the nearest flat surface. Phil’s idea of sexy inducements seemed to be about fifty-fifty. His eyes flicked down to where Clint’s sweatpants did nothing to hide just how much he wanted to get past the talking and onto the fucking. “Go ahead with your questions.” 

Same phrase he used after presentations at SHIELD. Great. More awkward moments at work ahead. Clint gave himself a small shake– like Lucky after a fly landed on his nose– and pulled his mind back from awkward boners to the only _kinda_ awkward present.

“We’re okay, right?” Clint ran his thumb down the side of Phil’s neck, and Phil leaned into his hand. “I mean, we’re together and...and together?”

“Yes.” Phil pressed one hand firmly to the center of Clint’s chest, fingers tightening a little into the meat of his right pec. “I mean, I’m with you. And I _hope_ you still want to be with me.”

Clint couldn’t hold back the probably goofy, absolutely huge grin that spread across his face. He stroked down Phil’s neck, his chest, his belly, and inched his fingers under the edge of Phil’s t-shirt. Phil’s skin was hot, goosebumps growing as Clint brushed across the trail of hair that led into the waistband of his jeans.

“Do you want to live together?” 

Phil’s face flushed red, and he opened his mouth, closed his mouth, swallowed hard, and then looked away.

“Hey, hey!” Clint slid his arms around Phil’s waist, closing the last of the gap between them. Phil’s chest felt so _right_ against his own, like their bodies fit like...like two toned agents or something. “Babe. I really want to know. There’s no wrong answer here.”

“Yes.” Phil set his jaw and looked Clint squarely in the eyes, body tensing like he was waiting for a blow. “But not at a place where we– where you can’t have Lucky. I really wasn’t thinking about much of–”

“Whoa, babe.” Clint kissed the tip of his nose. “I get that. Now, I mean. I get that now. I just wondered if...I mean I would like us to...that’s something we should talk about more. After sex, though. Or, um, later, anyway.”

Phil let out a long sigh and smiled, relaxing into Clint’s arms enough to kiss his chin and lean their foreheads together again. 

It was Clint’s turn to be brave in the face of possible rejection. He sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to ask.

“Are you mad at me still?” The words came out much smaller than Clint had intended. 

“No!” Phil wrapped his arms around Clint’s neck and hugged him hard. “ _God_ , no! Clint! I was never mad. I was...I was hurt. Scared. Embarrassed. I thought...I thought I’d been misreading you all along. That I’d made an ass of myself in front of you.” He shivered, and Clint hugged him back, reaching up to thread his fingers into Phil’s fine, soft hair. “I thought...I thought you meant it. That you were just...having fun with me.”

“But I _am!_ ” Clint grabbed Phil’s shoulders and pushed him back enough to see his eyes. “I mean, not _just_ , but I have so _much_ fun with you, babe. It’s never...it’s never felt this easy. I usually...I don’t have fun after a few weeks, usually. I mean, I know I can get kinda annoying sometimes, and then people don’t want to spend so much time with me. Or, you know, they stop thinking I’m funny or...or they...or they quit _being_ fun.”

“Oh.” Phil’s lips shaped a perfect circle of surprise, and then his eyes lit up. “ _Oh!_ ”

“Yeah.” Clint nodded and brushed his fingers down the side of Phil’s neck. “Now you’re getting it.”

“I thought you were about to get it.” Phil’s grin crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I mean, if your offer still stands.”

Clint shot a critical look at his own crotch. “Well, it’s not standing like it was, but I bet you can get it back to that pretty damned fast.”

Phil snickered and brushed his thumb over Clint’s bottom lip. “I love you, you know.”

Clint kissed him before he answered.

“I _do_ know.” Clint was surprised by how easy it was to admit, how easy he found it to accept Phil’s feelings as fact. “I love you, too. Now will you _please_ fuck me? It’s easier...it’s easier to believe that things are okay when I can feel it.”

“I’ll make sure you feel it,” Phil deadpanned, and Clint cracked up. They tried to kiss, but mostly ended up bumping smiles, and Clint felt another knot of fear and sadness– the _last_ knot of fear or sadness– untangle in his belly. 

“Damn straight,” Clint whispered, and then he stepped back and linked his fingers through Phil’s. “Now take me to bed and give it to me good.”

*****

“Okay.” Clint stood beside his bed, hand a little damp in Phil's grasp, looking at the smooth bedspread. He'd changed the sheets before heading out to Phil's out of some weird sense that going home would suck less if he had a clean bed to crawl into. Alone. He hated going to bed alone after a couple good night's worth of Phil. “So how does… How do you want me?”

“Not tense enough to break my hand would be good, for starters.” Phil's voice was warm and gentle. Only he could manage to make that sound more like a casual observation than a complaint. 

“Sorry.” Clint quickly let go, then his nerves got the better of him, and he grabbed Phil's hand again, not squeezing quite as hard. 

“Look, babe. We don't have to…to try something new this time.” Phil carefully disentangled himself from Clint's grip and leaned into his side. He slipped his arm around Clint's waist and hugged him gently. 

“But I want to!” Clint thought for a second, imagined the heat and weight of Phil's impossibly long, gorgeously thick cock inside him. An electric heat quivered in his belly and his toes curled a little inside his shoes. “Yeah, I _really_ want to.”

“Okay.” Phil hugged him a little longer. “You are aware that we have to get our pants off for that work, though, right?”

Clint stepped back and reached for his own waistband, but Phil's fingers on his wrist stopped him. 

“Let me,” he said gently, and Clint nodded, breath catching in his throat at the tenderness in Phil's kind eyes.

Letting Phil lead the proceedings turned out to be both amazing and frustrating. He gently peeled each layer of clothing from Clint's body, kissing and nipping at every inch of skin his mouth could reach. Clint lost track of time when Phil spread him across the bed and started working over his dick with his mouth. He stared at a crack in the ceiling, not thinking of much of anything except how _good_ Phil’s mouth felt, wet and hot and so, so gentle as he licked and sucked. Phil rustled against Clint’s still-made bed, scooting a little lower, and then he sucked one of Clint’s balls into his mouth, massaging with his tongue.

“Hrngh!” Clint said, eloquently, stomach clenching enough to bring his head off the pillow. Phil chuckled deep in his throat, and the vibrations made Clint’s dick release another bead of precome. Clint “That’s...that’s...Wow you’re good at that!”

Phil hummed in acknowledgement, and Clint wondered if he could come from nothing but that.

“I can’t believe how lucky I am.” Phil pushed himself up to his knees, and Clint couldn’t look away from the adoring, glow in Phil’s eyes. “And to think I...I nearly ruined it.” He blinked hard and looked away.

Clint forced his noodle-like limbs to push him up so he could cup Phil’s face in his hands. 

“No, babe,” he whispered, reeling Phil into a kiss. “Not ruined. Just...just a little hiccup.”

Phil’s eyes were glazed over and a little red-rimmed, and his lips were swollen and blurred from Clint’s dick, his hair stood out in wavy little tufts from Clint’s fingers. Clint pulled him into one more kiss, running his teeth lightly over the curve of Phil’s bottom lip.

“Seriously, Phil. It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.” He kissed the tip of Phil’s nose, snickering when Phil’s eyes crossed to watch. “Right now I want to forget about everything except where we are. We’re okay. You _said_ we’re okay. I just want to feel that.”

Phil sighed, a deeply happy sound, and leaned down to press into another tender kiss. Clint arched under him, trying to rub his cock against Phil’s toned belly. All the kissing and understanding and being sweet was _nice_ but, now that he’d asked for it, Clint was in a hurry to get onto bigger and better things.

_Heh. On bigger things._

“I love you.” Phil said it matter of factly while he stretched over to open the nightstand drawer and extract a bottle of lube. “You can change your mind, if you, um, want to. Won’t change that I love you.”

“I _know_ that, babe.” Clint pulled Phil into his arms. “I trust that. I also trust that if you don’t hurry up and get in my ass, I’m going to pin you down and sit on it.”

Phil folded his hands primly in his lap and gave Clint an expectant look. 

“No.” Clint grabbed a pillow and smacked Phil (gently) in the head with it. “That look does _not_ do it for me. That’s the look Lucky gets for the pizza man.”

“Wasn’t there some line about learning things from the pizza man in that show with the gay angel?” Phil tugged the pillow out of Clint’s hands and whacked him on the shoulder with it. 

“Ambiguously bisexual angel,” Clint answered, laughing. “And how did we get to Supernatural from you fucking me? And can we _please_ get back to the bisexual sex that’s _supposed_ to be happening?”

“Of course.” Phil dropped the pillow and flung himself into Clint’s arms, bearing him down to the mattress. 

They kissed and kissed, until Clint’s lips were tingling and his dick was throbbing even without the pressure of Phil’s hip against it. He clawed at the back of Phil’s t-shirt, trying to drag it up and off without removing his tongue from where he was happily using it to explore the edges of Phil’s teeth.

“Hang on! Hang on!” Phil sat up to strip his shirt off. “You were going to choke me that way.”

“Can think of better ways to do that,” Clint mumbled, not paying attention to what he was saying as he reached down to give his own dick a squeeze– a reminder that it hadn’t actually been entirely forgotten in favor of his ass. Phil laughed and stood up to strip out of his sweatpants and boxerbriefs in one easy motion.

“Roll over for me, yeah?” He kissed Clint’s neck. “It’ll be easier for the first stretch.”

Clint nodded and flopped onto his stomach, lifting his hips enough to shake his ass in Phil’s general direction. Phil laughed again, and then leaned down and pressed a hot kiss right over Clint’s entrance. 

Clint should have been embarrassed by the squeak punched out of his lungs, but the howl that followed when Phil licked a second later was far more humiliating. All the sounds that came after were entirely ignored in favor of trying to push back enough to fuck himself deeper on Phil’s tongue.

The lube cap clicked open and the bottle made a funny sound that would have gotten a twelve-year-old joke out of Clint in any other circumstances. As it was, he had no words except “Phil!” and “Yes!” and “Fuck that’s good!” over and over and in various combinations. The stretch of two fingers was negligible after all the work Clint’s ass had gotten from Phil and from the toys they’d been playing with (and that Clint had played with on his own since their first trip to the toy store). The third finger gave more of that stomach-lurching pleasure-pain of intensity, and Clint begged Phil to give him more. 

“Soon, babe,” Phil slurred against the back of Clint’s neck before biting down hard on the meat of his shoulder. Clint reached down to squeeze his dick again, that time to stop himself going off like a rocket. 

“Better be soon,” Clint panted, trying to control the shaking in his limbs, “or you won’t get to get inside me before I come from just that!”

Phil gurgled his agreement and sat back on his haunches. Clint cried out, sweat dripping into his eyes, as Phil pushed both thumbs into him and drew them gently apart. _There_ was the burn Clint had hoped for. He couldn’t keep in the jerky little twitches of his hips, the way he rode back onto Phil’s hands like there was nothing better in the world.

But there _was_ something better. _Much_ better. Or there would be if Phil would just quit playing and start fucking already. And then Phil’s fingers pulled away, and he started to lean toward the nightstand drawer that still hung open. Clint rolled partway over and grabbed him by the wrist.

“You...you haven’t had any fluid contact since your last test, have you?” Clint licked his suddenly dry lips and tried not to hyperventilate. It’d been a _long_ time since he’d gone bare with anyone, and he never had taken it without that all-important layer of latex.

“No…” Phil drew the word out, his eyes darkening even further. “I haven’t been bled on by...well, anyone. And I haven’t been with anyone since...since that morning in the breakroom.” His cheeks flushed darker than just the heat of arousal could account for. “And I went in for a test a couple weeks ago. Was going to wait to bring that up until–”

Clint could tell Phil was nervous to the point of babbling, and one nervous talker in the relationship was plenty, thanks. He pushed himself up and cut off Phil’s words with a hot, wet kiss. He felt wrecked when he pulled away, panting hard and shivering all over.

“Me, ah, me either.” Clint licked his lips. “And I’ve never...not like this...not without. I think I’d like you to, ya know, be my first. Like that. Like this. Um, yeah.”

Phil looked at him for a moment, face flushed red, lips shining and swollen, hair rumpled. Clint thought he’d never looked as appealing as he did right that moment.

“I’ve never gone without.” Phil swallowed hard and sank back on his haunches. “But I’d...I’d like it if you were my first.”

“Well,” Clint folded his arms under his chin and arched his back to shove his ass a little higher as he spoke, “since you’re gonna be my first foot-long, I suppose it’s only right that I get one for you.”

“It’s only eleven inches,” Phil said with an attempt at modest humility. Clint barked a laugh and then sighed happily as Phil climbed back between his knees and kissed the center of his spine. “But if there are any firsts left, I’d like them to be with you.”

Clint opened his mouth to tease Phil for his accidental sappiness, and then Phil lined up and pushed against his entrance. Since Clint’s mouth was open anyway, he used the opportunity to force out one giant groan of pleasure. At first nothing happened except for a lot of heat that ratcheted Clint’s need higher. And then his body opened reluctantly and Phil began to push in.

The first stretch was the hardest, and Clint hissed against the pleasure-pain of the burning stretch of it. Phil froze, which made it significantly worse, and then backed away. 

Backing away was _not_ what Clint wanted to happen.

“No, baby,” Clint panted. “Come on, it’s okay. Go back in. Just...just keep going.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Phil smoothed both hands down Clint’s sides, and Clint caught one of his hands, pulling it forward to press a kiss to the back of Phil’s knuckles. 

“You won’t. Not permanently. Just...just get the first part over with.” Clint stretched his back in a tight arch and then relaxed again. “Come on. Give it to me.”

Phil took a deep breath again and pushed in, slowly but steadily. Clint tried to bear down against the intrusion, and the sharp, cutting pain he’d experienced the first time was gone. All he felt was a long, slow slide. And then Phil’s fist bumped Clint’s ass.

“Gimme all of it,” Clint whispered. Pleaded. Something. “You’ve got more’n that!”

“Clint, up until we bought you that plug, you’d never taken something this big around.” Phil sounded _way_ too in control for how wildly Clint’s heart was beating. “I’m gonna stop here and we’ll see how it works out for you.”

He began to thrust, shallow and slow, and Clint huffed in frustration. He’d asked for Phil’s cock, but he was only getting about half of it. Not. Fair. Clint didn’t want Phil controlled and holding back; he wanted Phil wild and crazy and fucking like he’d die without it. After all, that’s how Clint always felt when he was buried in Phil’s tight, hot ass. It would only be fair.

Two more short thrusts, and Clint got an idea.

“Hang on! Hang on!” He pushed himself up onto all fours and shook back his wet bangs, looking back at Phil over his shoulder. “I wan’...” He wiped the back of his forearm across his face to clear the rivulets of sweat that stung his eyes. “I wanna ride...wanna sit on it– on you.”

“Baby, I’m not sure–” Phil’s eyes were wild, wide and frightened, and Clint reached out to grab his wrist.

“Fuck, Phil!” Clint interrupted “Come on! Lie down! I wan’ ride you! It’ll be easier. We’ll make it work like that, promise.”

Phil bit his lip and, for just one moment, looked as flushed, as sweat-drenched, as shattered and desperate as Clint felt. He studied Clint’s face for a minute, and then nodded and flung himself on the bed. He rolled onto his back and reached up with one hand to cup Clint’s cheek. Clint let himself be pulled in for one more hard kiss before he grabbed the lube and poured a generous stream over his palm and Phil’s cock, slicking him thoroughly in a few tight strokes. He took another deep breath before swallowing hard. 

“Not too deep,” Phil whispered, pulling Clint down for a bump of lips far too uncoordinated to be called a kiss. “Don’t want you to hurt yourself, babe.”

“Nah, this’ll be great,” Clint whispered against Phil’s lips. “If it’s too much, I’ll stop. But if I can take it, I will.”

Phil didn’t answer. He just kept watching Clint’s face, and then he lifted his head to kiss Clint on the nose. “Promise you’ll stop before it’s too much?”

“Promise.”

Clint grinned at him, his face feeling as crooked as his thoughts, and he pushed himself up to fling a leg across Phil’s hips, straddling his lower belly. Phil’s mouth, usually so firm and expressive, gaped open like a fish as he panted, and Clint wondered how the man could look so hot like that. He reached behind himself, grasping the hot-hard-soft-smooth of Phil’s cock, steadying it as best he could. He couldn’t possibly lift himself up high enough, so he leaned back and pushed, and took the swollen head inside himself, groaning his pleasure. 

“Yeah, Phil! Oh fuck, _yes_!” Clint’s eyes rolled halfway up in his head, eyelids closing when he most wanted to watch Phil’s face. “God, so _big_!”

Phil made a gurgling noise that Clint took as agreement that his plan was a good one. Clint pushed harder, sinking all the way down in one impossibly long, impossibly perfect slide, and Phil’s stomach tightened under his hand as Phil shouted and jerked. They both sighed as one when Clint relaxed his thighs, Phil’s entire cock sheathed in his body, Clint’s ass pressing firmly down to Phil’s hips.

“Goddamn, Phil,” Clint gasped out, trying to figure out how to breathe around the intrusion. He’d never felt so filled up, so stuffed before. He felt like Phil’s cock took all available room, reorganizing his insides, pushing out all the space air should go. “Fuck! I think I can taste you!”

Phil laughed– strangled, verging on hysteria– and he’d gone so red that his freckles seemed to have vanished. Clint hoped Phil wasn’t on the verge of having a stroke or something; he’d hate to be branded as the ass that killed “Get It” Coulson. He also might have been feeling a bit hysterical, himself. He dared anyone to try to ride nearly a foot of cock and _not_ go just a little crazy.

“Careful, baby.” Phil sounded more shattered than Clint felt, and Clint forced himself to move one hand to cup Phil’s hot, flushed cheek. “Careful, you shouldn’t have...You have to be careful.”

“I’m okay.” Clint tried to give the words more breath, tried to make himself sound believable. In truth, he had no idea if he was okay or not. He had a lump the size of Texas in his throat and a dick the size of the Washington Monument up his ass, and every inch of his skin burned and froze and prickled with goosebumps. His heart was overflowing with triumph, his stomach still churned with adrenaline, and he still had the horrible emotional hangover that crying always left. He felt like he could fly, like he already _was_ flying, and he’d never felt so grounded in his life. “It’s okay, Phil. Babe. I...God, you feel amazing!”

Phil tossed his head, shoulders and hips shifting against the sheets. His eyes were half-closed and dazed, and his mouth kept falling open to pant before he pressed his lips together– the blissed-out version of his smilette. Clint wondered how, when _he_ was the one with the superhumanly large cock up his ass, _Phil_ looked like he was on the verge of flying to pieces. He smoothed his palms over Phil’s chest, fingers leaving whorls in his sweat-dampened chest hair.

“Heyyy, baby,” he panted swiping his thumbs over Phil’s nipples and smiling when Phil moaned. “Come on, now. Look at me, babe.”

“Hey.” Phil blinked until he finally focused on Clint’s face and then grinned, lopsided. “I wish you could feel how incredible your ass is. I dunno if it’s just the lack of latex between us, or if it’s just because it’s _you_.”

“I think,” Clint gave an experimental rock of his hips and nearly swallowed his tongue at the pressure against his… _everything_. He shivered violently and tried to suck in more air. “I think that it’s you. You feeling. _Fuck_! You feeling good. In me.”

A sound rasped in Phil’s throat, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or moan, and Clint tried again to move. Impaled as he was, whole body trembling with possible overstimulation, all he could manage was a little rock that just made Phil’s cock press hard enough against his prostate to kick the air right back out of his lungs before any oxygen could spread to his bloodstream.

Or maybe that was just Phil’s cock taking up all the space that air should occupy in his lungs. 

Clint rocked again, trying to lift with his thighs. Phil’s own thick thigh muscles, combined with the squish of the memory foam topper that Kate had convinced Clint to buy, didn’t give him a lot of room to work with. He couldn’t get any kind of lift to really fuck himself on Phil like he wanted to, so he settled for rolling his hips just enough to keep the thick, heavy weight shifting incrementally inside him. Just enough to keep sparking electricity up his spine with every movement.

“Clint!” Phil’s voice came out barely a whisper. And _Fuck_ , but he looked good. The flush that had pinked his cheeks and ears reddened further, spreading down his neck and chest. His lips were still kiss-swollen, red and glossy and perfect. His hands twitched against Clint’s hips like he couldn’t get enough coordination to actually squeeze.

The air had taken on a distinct tang of sex and sweat, and Clint finally managed to get a full breath, sucking in the musky scent of Phil that Clint missed painfully on the nights he spent home alone. He suddenly needed more contact than just Phil’s cock and his restless grip. Clint tipped forward onto his chest.

“Stay with me.” Clint hadn’t realized he was going to actually say the words aloud until they were out. He sighed; even during the most challenging sex of his life, his mouth couldn’t be counted on to stay out of trouble.

“I’m right here, babe. Not going anywhere.” Phil’s arms looped around his shoulders, hugging hard. Clint had even less traction, but he tried to move his hips in something like a rhythm, hoping he could keep himself from going any further down the path he’d started.

“No, I mean like _stay_ stay.” _Goddamn fucking unreliable stupid mouth!_ “To live. Here. With me. And Lucky.”

One of Phil’s hands landed heavily on Clint’s ass, stilling his increasingly unsuccessful attempts at fucking.

“Now?” Phil sounded breathlessly wild and bewildered. “You want to have this conversation _right now?_ ”

“Not really,” Clint answered honestly. “I mean, not right now. But...I wanted you to know. That I do want to live with you. But...maybe here. Instead of there. Will you please make me stop talking now?”

Phil really did manage a laugh then, deep and rich and so, so sexy. “Okay. Okay, let’s–” Phil licked his lips, his entire body tensing, and Clint found himself flipped sideways, landing on the bed with an _oof_.

“Yeahhhh,” Clint breathed, hating the sudden emptiness in his ass and gut but loving the playful look in Phil’s eyes. He rolled to his knees and rocked his hips side to side. “ _Now_ I’m gonna get it, yeah?”

“Something like that.” Phil rolled off the side of the bed and reached back to tug on Clint’s thighs with both hands. “But only if you get over here and take it.”

Clint backed off the bed, bracing himself when his legs trembled. Phil pushed up behind him, hands hot and steady on his hips. Keeping him up. Pulling him close. Clint ground back against the thick, heavy heat of his erection. Phil pushed him forward, and Clint braced his hands tightly on the edge of his mattress just as the blunt head of Phil’s cock nudged back into him. How the _fuck_ could it still stretch like that, after being buried in his ass for the past ten minutes already?

Phil moved forward and pushed in with one long, delicious, almost-painful slide, lighting up Clint’s whole body.. All the air in Clint’s lungs whooshed out in a rush as sweat broke out all over his skin. He barely heard Phil’s overwhelmed little moan above the thudding of his pulse in his ears. Clint dug his fingers into his comforter, squeezing hard. He tried to catch his breath, but the still-overwhelming stretch of Phil buried to the hilt in his ass made it hard. 

“Are you okay, Clint?” Phil panted, and Clint thought he could listen to that tight, excited tone _all the time_. 

“‘Course I am, babe.” There was a lump in Clint’s throat, and he tried to choke back a slightly hysterical laugh at the thought that it might be the head of Phil’s cock. “Everything’s dandy. You just...you just go about your business back there, yeah?”

Phil let out a heavy groan and moved, slowly but with a great deal of purpose, pulling back so slowly and then pushing forward hard. Sweat trickled down Clint’s face, gathering in his lashes, dripping from his chin and nose, and he tried to pant. It didn’t seem to help him get _any_ more air.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

Phil’s voice was tight, holding onto the last of his control with the tips of his fingers, and Clint remembered how thinking how badly he’d wanted to see Phil entirely free from his usual restraint. Clint braced his arms, tongue darting out to lick the sweat from his top lip, and then he grinned; he was _great_ at sex.

“ _God_ you feel so good to me, babe!” Clint arched his back and shoved back to meet Phil’s next thrust. “So damn good! I didn’t know– Fuck! Didn’t know it could feel like this. That you’d fill me up so good, so right! Shit! Fuck’n me deeper’n anybody’s ever been!”

Phil gurgled, and his next thrust slammed home so hard Clint felt his eyes cross. Clint inched his legs a little wider.

“ _Yes!_ ” Clint pushed back to meet him again. He felt like his insides were unfurling, spreading up and out to make room to take Phil, making space where Phil _belonged_. The fuzz in his ears and nose faded, his mind focusing entirely on the singular goal of letting his body take what it wanted. “Fuck me, babe! Come on, Phil! Give it to me!”

Phil growled and clenched his hands down on Clint’s hips, fingers biting in hard. Clint gave up on trying to make sense then, stopped trying to beg. All he could do was hold on and fucking _keen_ from how good it felt: all eleven fucking inches of Phil’s cock sliding in and out, the slap of Phil’s sharp hips against the tense, trembling muscles of Clint’s ass. Clint’s arms began to tremble, and he hoped he could hold himself up, stay stable to take the force of Phil’s thrusts. 

Clint’s flanks and hips stung where Phil’s nails scraped raw tracks as he tried to keep his grip on Clint’s slick skin, but it didn’t _hurt_. Not really. Clint was so turned on that every sensation was just _more_ and _good_ , and he he didn’t think he’d ever get enough. Clint let his head hang down, all his attention focused on the way his own body stretched around Phil.

If he’d known it would be like _this_ – so filling and fulfilling, so intense and so hot– Clint wouldn’t have waited on getting Phil in his ass. Then again, if he hadn’t waited, he wouldn’t have had something to surrender when Phil had shown up. Nothing left to use, possibly a _bit_ overdramatically, to show Phil that he was all in. They’d fought, and things were still okay. Phil had screwed up and still managed to leave Clint in no doubt that they were going to be okay, that they’d fix it before it all fell apart.

Phil twisted his hips on the next thrust, and, for one glorious moment, Clint’s spine lit up from the shift in pressure against his prostate. 

And then things went very, very wrong.

Clint arched his back, and Phil’s next thrust stuttered against Clint’s rim, pressing painfully for a moment. Before Clint could cry out or move with him, Phil slid free, his cock ramming painfully against the back of Clint’s balls. Clint’s arms and legs gave out together, and he dropped to the bed, both hands clutching at his groin. He tried to cry out but found himself breathless for much _less_ fun reasons than before.

“ _Fuck!_ ” The bed dipped as Phil dropped down to curl him. “Oh shit! I’m sorry, baby! Fuck, I’m so sorry! I just...I shouldn’t have...I’ve never lost control like that! I just–”

Clint forced his lungs and diaphragm to cooperate, sucking in a deep breath.

“It’s _okay_!” Clint snickered around the pain, reaching up to brush a tear out of the corner of his eye. “Seriously, babe. Shit happens.”

“But…” Phil nosed in against the back of Clint’s neck, hugging harder and shaking. At least, Clint _thought_ he was shaking. It was entirely possible that the trembling of the bed was entirely from the way Clint couldn’t stop his muscles from clenching at the weird combination of arousal and agony in the area of his nuts. “Baby, I...I promised I wouldn’t...that I wouldn’t hurt you with my dick.”

Clint went from nervous snickers to full on laughing, and Phil went suspiciously silent.

“Are you...are you _laughing_ at me?” Phil pushed up to lean over Clint’s side to look Clint in the eye. Clint laughed harder and forced his body to uncurl enough that he could roll to his back and pull Phil into his arms.

“Probably.” Clint lifted his head to kiss the tip of Phil’s nose, another giggle escaping when Phil’s eyes crossed to watch him. “Hey, it’s okay. Gimme a minute to get my breath back, and then let’s try that again.”

“Poking you in the balls?” Phil sounded snippy, but his eyes had gone warm and soft again. 

“You fucking me.” Clint smoothed his fingers through Phil’s sweat-tangled hair. “You pushing into me and losing control. You giving me everything you’ve got.”

“I’m not sure…” Phil looked away, cheeks flushing red. “I don’t know if I have enough control. When I’m with you. It just… _you_ just felt so good. And then I–”

“ _Good_.” Clint tucked Phil down against his chest and kissed his brow, his cheekbone, the corner of his lips. “I don’t want you to hold back. I don’t want you to think when you’re fucking me. I want you to just _be_. I want us both to. I think we’ve both tried to stay too controlled since the beginning of this, and I think that’s why we fought. We hadn’t let each other in far enough.”

Phil stayed stone-faced for a moment, and then a giggle escaped, tinged with hysteria. 

“You let me in plenty far just a little bit ago.”

Clint relaxed, rolling to loop one leg across Phil’s thighs. He grinned, feeling dopey and happy. “There you are,” he whispered, nuzzling in to kiss Phil’s lips softly. He pulled away and watched Phil’s eyelids flutter over his dazed eyes. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Phil settled across Clint’s body, belly to belly. Clint could feel Phil plumping between them. 

“You ‘bout ready to try again?” Clint tried to keep his expression relaxed, hoping Phil wouldn’t tense back up on him. “It was really good for a little bit there, and I think I’d like to feel you finish inside me.”

“You...you sure?” Phil licked his bottom lip, and Clint tipped forward to follow the same path with his own tongue. Phil sighed and Clint felt his body loosen further, sinking down heavily over him.

“I am _so_ sure, babe.” Clint tugged at Phil’s ribs until he shifted over to settle between Clint’s thighs. “How about we try it this way? It was...it was really good with you pounding me like that, but I couldn’t reach you back there. I think I’d like to have you in my arms while I have you in my ass.”

“My boyfriend,” Phil said with a fond smile, “always the romantic.” He braced himself on one hand beside Clint’s head. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

Clint laughed, stuffing one hand between them to grope his own still mostly limp cock. “Not yet, but I bet I can get there when you’re fucking me again.”

Phil eyes darkened as his pupils widened. He sucked in a deep breath and reached down to line himself up. He inched forward, and Clint closed his eyes and moaned, wrapping his legs tightly around Phil’s hips, pulling him closer, faster. 

“Holy _fuck_!” Clint’s back arched as Phil pushed inside, Clint’s body making room for Phil to fit. “I wish you could feel how good this is! How good _you_ are! Fuck, Phil! Want this forever. Nothing and no one but you!”

“No,” Phil whispered, eyelashes fluttering as he buried himself fully in Clint’s ass. “No one. Just mine.” He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, gaze so warm Clint wanted to wrap up in that look forever. “And I’m all yours now, baby.”

Clint had just enough time to think that no one saying something that sappy should look _that_ hot, and then Phil moved. The force of it drove the breath from Clint’s lungs, and he grabbed Phil’s biceps to try to hold on as his entire world proceeded to be thoroughly, completely, eternally rocked. Every thrust was long and deep, and Phil started shaking within moments. 

“That’s it, babe.” Clint tugged until Phil collapsed down to his chest. “Give it to me. Give it up for me.”

Clint heard a tiny whimper and wondered if it was from his own throat or Phil’s. He wrapped his arms tightly around Phil’s neck, pressing their mouths together, fighting to keep his eyes open, to not miss a minute. Phil’s face was too close to watch, and his cock was too insistent to ignore. Phil buried his face against the side of Clint’s neck and whispered out tiny groans and pleas and breathy little sounds of pleasure. 

“Feel’so good, baby,” Phil slurred, lips and teeth dragging over all the sensitive places under Clint’s jaw. “God, just want…”

Clint wrapped his legs higher around Phil’s back, curling up to meet the next thrust. He waited to see if Phil would complete the sentence he began, but Phil just moaned again, softer, arms squeezing tighter around Clint’s ribs, fingers digging into his shoulderblades.

“Whatever you want, babe,” Clint whispered. “I’m right here for the taking. ‘Ts all yours.”

Phil growled, deep and sexy, and started thrusting harder. Clint tangled one hand through Phil’s fine, damp hair and kept talking.

“That’s it, Phil. Just fuck me. Wanna feel you come. Fill me up with it, yeah?” Clint shifted and let out a sharp whine as his spine lit up. _Target acquired._ “Yeah! Shit! Fuck! There, baby! Keep fucking me just like that!”

Phil made another noise, something wild and out of control, and the next thrust forced an echo out of Clint’s throat– some kind of sexual call and response that wound the tension tighter around Clint’s stomach and balls. He could feel himself climbing toward orgasm, arms and legs shaking with it. Phil’s body shivered once, hard, and then he let out a sound close to a howl as he tightened all over, thrusting in hard and grinding down as his dick pulsed in Clint’s ass.

Everything stopped, Phil slowly relaxing against Clint’s chest, still quivering and breathing hard.

“There you go, babe,” Clint whispered, trying to ignore the pressure of Phil’s belly against his own still-rigid cock. He kissed Phil’s hair and stroked down the back of Phil’s neck with trembling fingers. “That was beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

“You byo’iful.” Phil shivered hard once more time and then pushed himself up and smiled crookedly down at Clint, cheeks and ears redder than they’d been while he’d fucked himself into oblivion. “Shit! Sorry! Sorry, babe! I haven’t...I don’t...It’s been a long time since I’ve, um, gone first.”

“Good.” Clint stroked over Phil’s hair and down his back. “Goooood. ‘Bout time you got to, then.”

“Gimme a minute and then I’ll…” Phil slid sideways and gestured to Clint’s groin. 

“You don’t have to.” Clint pulled at Phil until he settled in and draped one leg across Clint’s thighs. “Seriously. This one was about you.”

“For you, maybe.” Phil traced his fingers lightly along the muscles of Clint’s stomach, down to the point of one hip. “But I’m not going to be fully satisfied until you’re done.”

“You did me good, babe.” Clint chuckled and closed his eyes, letting the ticklish trail of Phil’s fingers on his skin soothe some of the tension in his muscles. “You did me so good. I can feel you trickling out of my ass.”

“Can’t have that.” Phil grunted as he sat up and shifted down the bed. He pushed Clint’s thighs wide and settled between them. Clint nearly bit his tongue as Phil stroked his thumb around Clint’s hole and then pushed it in. “Holy fuck.” Phil breathed the words reverently. “That’s...that’s the hottest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Sorry you’ve waited so long to bareback?” Clint rolled his hips, moving Phil’s thumb inside him as he did. 

“No.” Phil barked the word, sharp and decisive. “ _Fuck_ no. That was worth waiting for.”

Clint could feel his own face heat; he wasn’t used to that kind of compliment.

“Speaking of waiting,” he said, trying to redirect Phil from _feelings_ , to get him back to, er, _feeling._ So to speak. He pressed his heels into the bed and rotated his hips, forcing Phil’s fingers to move inside him. 

“Getting impatient?” Phil raised one cocky eyebrow, and Clint started to pant. How the hell could the man look so _hot_ when he was being an asshole. He pulled his thumb free, turned his hand, and pressed two fingers in to replace it. It felt _good_ , but it wasn’t _enough_. Not after the overwhelming fulfillment of his cock.

_Ful-Phil-ment. Heh._

The stretch deepened on the next thrust– Clint figured Phil’d gotten up to three or maybe even all four fingers– and then Clint felt nothing but bliss as Phil leaned down and took Clint’s dick into his mouth. One of Clint’s legs kicked out while the other curled over Phil’s shoulder, both of them completely out of Clint’s control. He curled up until he could grip Phil’s shoulder with one hand, the other digging deep into now-abused comforter, and held on, hoping he could last.

He didn’t stand a chance, not with Phil licking and sucking at him, humming little sounds of pleasure as he did it. All Clint could manage was some strange combinations of sounds that might have been curses and might have been swears and might have been declarations of love. Or maybe all three tangled up together. Phil’s fingers hit just right at the same time that Phil’s teeth scraped lightly– so very lightly– and Clint’s orgasm exploded in his gut and his balls and behind his eyes all at once. 

Phil kept licking up Clint’s dick as it softened, and Clint concentrated very hard on getting his fingers unwound from Phil’s soft hair without yanking out the entire handful of it.

“Jesus fuck.” Clint finally managed to free his hand and let both arms relax heavily onto the bed. “Really. Holy fucking shit. That was… You are… I mean I can’t…” Words wouldn’t come out, so Clint forced one arm to move so he could pat Phil on the head. 

Phil chuckled smugly and leaned his cheek against Clint’s thigh.

“Liked that?” 

Even with his eyes closed, Clint could picture the cat-who-ate-the-canary smilette on Phil’s lips.

“Nope.” He patted Phil’s hair again. “Loved it. Loved it s’much. And you. Love that, too.”

Phil climbed up the bed to settle against Clint’s side. He stroked his palm over Clint’s waxed-smooth chest, one finger tracing a pale scar. 

“I should get up.” He kissed the point of Clint’s shoulder. “But I don’t want to.”

“Stay.” Clint rolled into Phil’s embrace, catching his mouth in a deep, soft kiss. “Please. Stay.”

“I have a meeting in the morning.” Phil initiated the next kiss, his eyes fluttering closed.

“You have a suit here.” Clint came up for air first. “On my pillow. Um. Couch. On the couch. I could lend you a tie.”

“You have a tie?” Phil lifted a teasing eyebrow and the squeeze of his wide hand on Clint’s ribs said he didn’t really mean it.”

“I have, like, _three_ ties.” Clint thought a second. “Well, maybe two. I think one of them I used to– I mean, it was the first thing I found. And silk is strong, right? But you can wear one of them. I’ll wear the other. Except I’m not sure they–”

Phil stopped the sudden babbling with another kiss.

“I’ll stay.”

“Good.” Clint shifted to get his arms settled more comfortably around Phil, one bicep cradling his head. “Good. But, Phil. Babe. I mean...stay forever. Move in with me. I mean, it might be a little crowded, and I know that–”

Phil kissed him again, lips and teeth suddenly fierce. 

“All I need is my desk and maybe one bookshelf.” He snickered. “And some space for my clothes. Unless you planned on keeping me naked and in your bed all the time.”

“Hell no!” Clint kissed him back, short, sharp pecks to his lips and nose and eyebrow. “I think I'll keep you naked in your bed. It’s more comfortable than mine.”

Phil laughed, soft and happy-sounding. “We’ve got time to work out those details. My lease doesn’t expire until the end of next month.”

Clint pushed himself up, heart hammering wildly behind his ribs. 

“You mean it?” He grabbed Phil’s bicep, squeezing a little too hard in his sudden flash of excitement. “You mean you’re going to move in?”

“Only if you want to…” Phil’s face went a little guarded, eyes darting over Clint’s face before darting away.

“Of _course_ I mean it, babe!” Clint swooped down, rolling Phil to his back and kissing him hard. “I just didn’t think you’d… Lucky!”

Clint turned his head and yelled. “Lucky! Get up here!”

Lucky’s claws clicked up the stairs, and Clint tried to make a mental note that they needed grinding again. Or another few extra-long walkies. He forgot all about it when a heap of wiggling fur landed on the bed, barking happily.

“Phil’s gonna move in with us,” Clint said, fairly certain Lucky didn’t understand him. Lucky still caught his mood, tail whipping into overdrive. “He’s gonna _stay_ , boy!”

Lucky dropped his butt to the bed and went completely still aside from excited twitches of his tail.

“No, no.” Clint told him. “Phil’s gonna stay. Lucky’s gonna–”

Lucky pounced, knocking Clint into Phil and licking at any part of their faces he could reach. Clint covered his groin with one hand and Phil’s groin with the other while Phil’s hands reached out to scratch at dog ears.

 _And this_ , Clint thought, _this is my life. Happy man and happy dog in a fairly clean apartment. I think maybe I got it right this time._

His well-abused innards gave a grumble, and he fought his way free to bolt for the bathroom.

 

Later, much later, freshly showered and settled under the covers with a freshly showered Phil and a freshly walked dog, Clint lay in the dark smiling to himself. He’d texted his news to a few people. And then he’d gotten congratulatory texts _back_ from more than just those few. He’d even gotten a sincere-sounding text from Jess, apologizing for her jealousy and commending him for how much he’d learned since they’d split. Bobbi had just sent _xx_ , and Clint was choosing to believe one of those kisses was for Phil himself. Kate’s text was nothing more than a random string of emojis that might have meant she was happy for him, or could indicate that she was expecting another tracksuit dracula attack and she was prepared with bombs and a grenade launcher. Whichever.

Clint thought back to the long, sleepless nights and the days of exhausted napping that his therapist said were indicative of depression. He thought of the morning he’d met Phil and all the changes Clint had made to try to impress the guy. Every change was a shift in circumstances, but not a change to Clint himself. He just...liked a clean apartment. And not waking up hungover. And eating more than a few frozen burritos or a salisbury steak dinner for supper. And having clothing without holes. 

Phil’s interest might have kicked off the improvements, but– and it was a real trip to think it– all the improvements came out of Clint himself.

“Fuck, I love you.” Clint rolled toward Phil and hugged him hard. 

“Where’d that come from?” Phil ruffled in his arms and then settled, much like a bird tucking into a nest.

“My heart,” Clint answered in a whisper, lips catching in Phil’s soft hair. 

Phil sighed contentedly, and they both relaxed for sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a very long, very hard time in my family. And I admit that I'm posting this without checking it as carefully as I should because I need love. So here's love. From me to you. And Phil to Clint. And Clint to Phil. 
> 
> I'd dedicate this to my wonderful stepfather, but he'd roll before we even get him in his grave. Love you, Papa. Sorry about the porn. Not sorry about the queer. 
> 
> Next up: just one little epilogue to go.
> 
> <3


	7. Epilogue: Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end is a beginning

Clint dug through his pockets on a key hunt. They weren’t in his thigh pouch. Or the other thigh pouch. They weren’t in his hip pocket or the weird little seam pocket on his vest. He sighed and fished out his lockpicks and set to work on his front door. He’d almost gotten the last tumbler lifted when both deadbolts clicked. He finished unlocking the door knob and straightened up just as the door opened and he was greeted by Phil’s warmest smilette (it was all in the number of eye crinkles; Clint had learned to read eye-crinkle quite fluently).

“Your keys are in the fridge.” Phil opened the door a little wider and held his arms out for Clint to walk into a hug. Clint did. “I wasn’t sure if it served a purpose or if you’d just set them down while picking up the kitchen before you left, so I left them there. But I appreciated the clean sink. Made fixing coffee easy.”

“Um. You’re welcome?” Clint still hadn’t gotten used to being thanked for things he considered basic civilities. But apparently Phil’s many night-long trysts hadn’t included a whole lot of basic manners once everyone had exited the bed, and he liked to actually state his appreciation. “You smell good.”

“You smell like you burned an arsenal.” Phil stepped backward, towing Clint into the apartment. 

“Sorry.” Clint tried to step away, but Phil buried his nose against the side of Clint’s neck and inhaled deeply.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” Phil sniffed some more.

“You’re so weird.”

“Says the man who stored his keys safely in the fridge so he’d be able to find them when he got home and broke in.” Phil lifted his face far enough away from Clint’s neck to dart his tongue across the dip in Clint’s top lip. “I’m glad you’re home.”

Lucky, who’d been lurking around behind Phil’s legs, got tired of waiting and flung himself at Clint’s hip with a desperate bark, and Clint dropped down to hug him. Phil huffed an amused laugh, and Clint wondered if it was at him or the dog.

“Hey, fella!” Clint hugged as much wiggling dog as he could get ahold of. “Were you a good boy for Phil? Did you watch over him and keep him from being lonely?”

“Actually,” Phil’s smile was wry, “I just got in about an hour ago. I got called out the day after you.”

“Oh.” Clint scowled, his fantasies of Phil spending every night in the bed they shared at home, jerking off and calling Clint’s name evaporating. Then he pictured Phil jerking off in a tiny hotel shower, knuckles stuffed in his mouth to keep from making any sound, and felt himself brighten. “How long’ve you been back?”

“Couple hours.” Phil grabbed the back of Clint’s tac vest and hauled him back to his feet to get back to welcoming him home properly. 

Clint let himself be kissed and then backed Phil against the closest wall to take charge of things a little. He’d been gone longer, so he figured he should get what he wanted first. Given the way Phil moaned softly against his mouth, Phil appeared to agree. Clint got Phil’s t-shirt rucked up enough to get his fingers in Phil’s soft chest hair, and Phil managed to unzip and unsnap Clint’s vest like it wasn’t the most complicated piece of clothing SHIELD had ever made. _Damn_ , Clint loved competence in undressing a man. He’d just started work on the buttons of Phil’s fly (and Clint _loved_ these jeans on Phil’s...everything) when Lucky barked, whined, and then barked again. 

“I think your dog objects to sex in the entry.” Phil leaned his head back against the wall to laugh.

“Oh, he’s _my_ dog, is he?” Clint reached down to pat Lucky’s head without pulling his mouth away from nibbling at Phil’s lovely, lovely jaw. “What happened to me hogging _your_ dog the night before I left?”

“I was cold then,” Phil answered, just a little breathless. “Now I’m horny, and he’s in the way.”

Lucky barked again and then licked Clint’s fingers and leaned against Phil’s leg. 

“I think you’d better just give in and pet him.” Phil pushed Clint back a step and smiled warmly down into Lucky’s one-eyed, tongue-lolled smile. “Otherwise he’ll never forgive either of us, and I refuse to have to watch my step before I’ve had coffee in the morning.”

Clint laughed, but again dropped to his knees to pat Lucky’s side and back. He _did_ curl the fingers of one hand around the back of Phil’s knee, though, just to keep that connection open. 

“I love you both.” Phil said it calmly, like it was a certainty and not just a feeling, and Clint blinked against a sudden heat in his own eyes. “It’s good to be home.”

“Yeah it is.” Clint looped his arm over Lucky’s shoulders as the dog sat down beside him and gazed up at Phil’s face. Clint could relate to the feeling. He reached into the inside pocket of his vest with his left hand and pulled out a little box. So many scenarios had been planned and discarded and replanned and changed, but none of them had felt quite right. That moment, kneeling with his dog at the feet of the man they both adored, was finally perfect. 

Phil’s eyes widened when he saw the box, and he darted his tongue out over his bottom lip. Clint grinned at him, and he started to smile back, and then Clint was shocked to find he neither had to force the words out, nor did he feel like they were climbing loose without his permission.

“I love you, babe.” He hugged Lucky tighter in order to open the box and display the heavy platinum band with the single small, flawless diamond set in the center. “I love coming home to you, but I know that, wherever I get to be with you would feel just as good. Because it’s _you_ , Phil. Not the place. And, weirdly, not even my dog. Just you. _You’re_ what I always want to come back to. So, um, I want to marry you. For real. Will you? Marry me?”

Phil beamed down at him, and Clint could feel himself beaming back. Lucky wagged and wiggled and made happy little sounds. 

“What do you think, Lucks?” Phil reached down to rest one hand on the dog’s head and the other on Clint’s hair. “Should I let him make me an honest man?”

“Oh the dog gets to decide, does he?” Clint tipped his head and rested his cheek in the palm of Phil’s hand. “What about what I want? What about what _you_ want?”

“What I want,” Phil said slowly, sinking down to sit in Clint’s lap, straddling his thighs, “is to be with you for the rest of my life. To be _yours_ for the rest of my life. And for you to be mine.”

Clint let go of Lucky and slipped his arms around Phil’s waist, trying to hold the box steady so he wouldn’t risk dropping the ring. Damn thing was more expensive than the last bow Clint had purchased for himself. Worth it, though. Phil was better’n any arrow Clint had ever shot. They rested together, kissing softly, warmly, wetly. And then Clint pulled up for air. 

“That’s a yes, right?” He leaned his forehead against Phil’s.

“Of course it is, babe.” Phil scooted back to sit on the floor, holding out his left hand. “And I believe you have a trinket for me?”

Clint slipped the band over Phil’s finger and kissed the knuckle above it. 

“Now you have to keep it there forever.” Clint kissed Phil’s lips until Phil pulled back to smile at him.

“Best order I’ve ever been given.”

*****

The intimate wedding in the park went off without a hitch. Eventually, anyway. 

After Kate had managed to run down Lucky, convince him to stop chasing squirrels, and herd him (with the rings tied securely to his collar) back toward the ceremony. After the rest of Clint’s team had managed to wrap up a fairly minor AIM fight in time to slide into place only a couple of short hours after the ceremony was supposed to start (Clint had been given the day off because Natasha had flatly declared that the smile on his face would terrify precisely no one that didn’t know Clint in everyday life). After Maria Hill had managed to terrify any number of county court clerks into signing nondisclosure agreements and state secrecy acts so she could perform the ceremony and make it all legal while seeming to keep it off the books, making her only ten minutes later than the Avengers in showing up.

The reception in the Mansion was more than Clint could have ever wished for. In actual fact, he wished it was a bit smaller and a bit less booze-laden. Still, seeing Jess drunkenly kiss Phil on the cheek and congratulate him and then receiving his own cheek-kiss and well wishes from her made Clint almost accept the whole thing. There was also the bonus of tipsy sneaking off to make out with Phil in Clint’s rooms. Unfortunately, just as things were getting good and Phil’s bowtie had come undone, Steve interrupted with his horsey disappointed face to tell Clint that Lucky had messed on the floor. 

That, obviously, signaled the end of the party. At least for Clint and Phil and Lucky. They faced the bubble-gauntlet and were handed into one of Tony’s limousines and whisked away to their ugly little building in Brooklyn. They left Lucky in care of the neighbors (who Phil had thankfully remembered to inform beforehand), picked up their luggage, and the same limo carried them out of the city toward a private airfield maintained by SHIELD.

“How’d you manage to swing this?” Clint asked, kicked back on a cushy couch in the belly of an aging but beautiful small aircraft. “I mean, SHIELD isn’t known for their generosity when it comes to using their toys for ‘non-mission applications’.” Clint tried his best to imitate Victoria Hand’s curt syllables. Lord knew he’d heard her say that phrase enough times in his life. Lives. Whatever.

“Apparently saving a few lives at the top has perks.” Phil shrugged and climbed on top of Clint, curling up with his head on one of Clint’s shoulders. “And making you less murderous in the halls won me some favor, too.”

“So where are we going?” It occurred to Clint that most people probably would have asked that question sometime before getting onto a plane. He was rather glad that he wasn’t most people; think of all the adventures he might have missed.

“East.” Phil picked his head up to look out one window. “Yup, east.”

“Destination unknown?” Clint closed his eyes and rubbed his hand slowly up and down Phil’s back.

“Yup.”

“Sounds like our kind of place.” Clint kissed Phil’s hair and sighed happily, settling in for a nap before they arrived.

The passenger compartment and the two sleeping men were bathed in rosy light as the plane flew toward the rising sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's FINALLY COMPLETE! So it took a little longer than planned. Just like the rest of life. 
> 
> This has been a wonderfully fun, happy journey for me in a year of utter chaos. I love all the comments and kudos so, SO much. Like I can't even tell you what they all mean to me. 
> 
> XX
> 
> Fae

**Author's Note:**

> PLANNING on posting about every other day until it's all up. Be patient with me if it doesn't work that way, though. Because there's so much work at work right now. And then more stuff to do at home. But the full outline is there, and it's written up TO the last chapter.
> 
> Anyway, HAPPY NEW YEAR!


End file.
